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“…and there is no evidence that the burglar could have escaped from the window. So it was clear that there must be another way of exiting the chamber…” Holmes rattled off his chain of deductions to his captive audience as Doctors Watson and Hooper examined and dressed wounds.
Of the three men, only one was badly wounded but he too would need no more than a couple of days of rest. Williams and his gofer were rather bloodied but safe.
It had been a strange case of a series of burglaries with nothing taken. The owners had the pet unease of the middle class and the neo-rich about calling in the police. One of them had finally decided to consult the great detective instead. Holmes had declined the case at first but when he was informed that it hadn’t been just one but five houses in all. He had been intrigued. Their case had ended up embroiled in an investigation being conducted by Mycroft’s people. The final show down, which had ended a short while ago, had caught them an aspiring traitor, a corrupt army contractor, as well as a domestic burglar with a purloined jewel.
A rather astoundingly satisfying case for Holmes thought Watson, as he gave one of his endearing smiles to his patient and gave him the usual admonishments of keeping the wounds dry, changing the dressing daily and not straining that arm and leg for the next few days.
These two were done now and Williams, who had insisted that he was fine was the only one left. So Watson then turned towards Williams but halted. In the light of the blazing candles and the roaring fire sat one of the foremost spies of the nation and Mycroft Holmes’ right-hand-man gawping brokenheartedly like a green youth at an unassuming doctor washing her hands. Doctor Margaret Katherine ‘Molly’ Hooper, of course, was completely blind to her admirer and his gawping. She had just finished stitching up a few wounds and dressing her patient’s burn wounds and was now unwearyingly scrubbing her hands again before she examined another patient. She also was stealing a few glances at the expounding detective. Her admiration for his friend of course had been clear to the doctor the first time she had visited their shared rooms. They were distant cousins and Holmes swung from completely ignoring her presence to erratic demands for esoteric facts from her regarding post mortem behaviour of human flesh. Holmes was the one who studied the human race and its foibles but it was Watson who sympathised with them. He had a sudden (and rather foolish) urge to fling himself to shield Williams from the rest of the room. He admonished himself that the man was perhaps somewhat younger than him but still he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. The naked yearning on his face notwithstanding.
For the time being, he would simply step back and let Molly (she had insisted upon first names since "we are were friends now") take care of the spy instead.
*****
A few days later
Doctor Margaret Hooper had never seen Mr. Edwin Williams so angry.
She had been needed and summoned to the site of a murder by her cousin and employer Mr. Mycroft Holmes and sheer coincidence had allowed her dear friend and sometimes colleague Dr. John Watson to escort her instead of the hardy footman Mycroft always insisted upon. Williams had been awaiting them near the body. Between the three of them they had quickly established the possible cause of death as well as the reasons for the mysterious lacerations behind both knees. As they were about to leave, Mycroft and another man had arrived. Mycroft had been greeting Doctor Watson, when the second man had loudly made scathing remarks about “letting gossiping nurses and spinsters among government agents trying to do important tasks”.
Rather used to such behaviour, Molly hadn't batted a lid. She was perfectly immune to such ignoramuses. Her younger brother-in-law had never forgiven her for achieving what he had failed to do – being accepted as a student of medicine and his scathing remarks had helped her grow a skin an elephant would envy. The male students in her class at the university and irascible patients who refused to let her near their bed had simply added a few more layers. However, it seemed her new friends and colleagues were not.
Instantly, Doctor Watson had turned with a frown. But it had been Williams who had quietly but viciously eviscerated the man. “May I remind you, sir, that it was Boadicea who rode out against the Roman army? Remind you that Britannia is a lady. That nature chose a woman to bear the pain of child-birth. Have you ever felt a bullet wound, sir? I have. It hurts for a while and then they dose you with opiates and analgesics to numb the pain. Let me tell you, sir, that a woman giving birth experiences far more pain than that and for hours at end sometimes even a whole day. Without having any way of ameliorating it. That is how ingrates like you are born. Should I ever fall again I hope and pray that I may be blessed enough that my physician’s hands belong to a gender that has such fortitude, courage and intelligence.”
He then turned around and gallantly offered Molly an arm, referring to her emphatically as Doctor Hooper, escorting her out. A still angry but somewhat bemused Watson was about to follow them when Mycroft spoke up, “Doctor Watson, could you please step back in for a moment? I need a word, sir. Williams will keep Doctor Hooper company if it is alright with her.”
Watson looked to his friend and said, "Just a moment, Mr. Holmes."
He followed them to a small shaded alcove and was about to say something soothing when Molly shooed him with her elegant fingers, “Go ahead, John. I will be fine here.”
"Are you sure, Molly. I can escort you back right away."
Williams joined his voice to Watson’s, saying, "Yes, Doctor Hooper, I will explain to Mr. Holmes. I am sure he will understand."
"Thank you Mr. Williams. But it is unnecessary. And thank you too for your able defence of my capabilities." She raised a peremptory hand and said, "No, John! If I reacted with despair every time this happened I would have to give up medicine. Perhaps, I wouldn't have even finished my degree. Go now. Mr. Williams shall bear me company."
As the doctor turned back, the man Williams had rebuked so soundly emerged. His face was crimson with rage. He stormed past them without a glance. Watson stepped in to find Mycroft.
“Ah! Doctor. Sorry to bother you. It was kind of you to escort Doctor Hooper.”
“Not at all, Mr. Holmes. We were just finishing tea when she was summoned and I was rather in need of some exercise.”
“I must also apologise for my colleague’s boorishness.”
“You or rather he should be apologising to Doctor Hooper.”
“I will. I wanted you to know that I have severely reprimanded him and he has been informed that such insolence regarding my colleagues will not be tolerated.”
Watson’s eyes twinkled and he lowered his voice, “Mr. Holmes, surely you did not ask me back simply to convey this. If at all, you would have asked her instead. So what is it that you are after?”
Mycroft matched his volume in response, “I confess I had a dual motive. It has been six days since I last saw you, John. Are you well?”
“Yes, Mycroft. And you?”
Mycroft smiled and nodded, “And before you ask, other than having you a few minutes to myself I hoped to give Williams a chance.”
Raising one eyebrow Watson smiled, “Playing Emma Woodhouse?”
“It cannot have escaped…”
“… anyone’s notice save Molly’s. Yes, yes. I know.” Then with mock sternness belied by a twinkle in his eyes he said, “Well then, if young Williams hasn’t asked to be her escort to a theatre party in the next couple of minutes, I reserve the right to deny him further opportunities. Hope your spies are trained as good as you are in such matters, Mr. Holmes.” The sly smile accompanying the last statement had Mycroft shaking his head.
A couple of minutes later, the doctor ducked back to see his dear friend and colleague seated on a chair in the hallway talking animatedly with the young man in question. He seemed to have fired her on one of her favoured topics and was now listening earnestly. He wished he could leave them alone for longer but it would be unseemly for Molly to be seen chatting to any one out here for long. Her reputation was already at a risk given her profession and her independent nature. Ever since their weekly meetings began he had taken to pick up only the most respectable ABCs and request the most respectable seating there. He cleared his throat and reluctantly approached the couple, loath to break the scene.
“Oh John! You won’t believe it. Mr. Williams here has asked if I would join him at a lecture of the Fabian Society this Friday. Doctor Annie Besant is going to speak. Isn’t it marvellous? Say you will come as well.”
“A wonderful idea, Molly. What a pity I will be otherwise occupied. A previous engagement,” said Doctor Watson with a sincere mien. “I am sure you will enjoy yourselves.”
He looked at Williams giving him a knowing and approving look. The spy’s eyes widened a bit for a fraction of a second before he masked it and politely bowed his head, “Your company will be missed, Doctor Watson. Some other day, hopefully,” his mien as sincere as Watson’s.
“Of course. Good day, Mr. Williams. Shall we, Doctor Hooper?”
As he flagged a cab, Doctor Watson mused that Williams indeed had picked the right event and the right time to ask her. His friend would love the lecture and she had been an admirer of Doctor Besant for quite some time. But more importantly Molly hadn't told him what time the talk was scheduled and yet hadn't even noticed his prompt and pathetically feeble excuse. It looked promising.
As they seated themselves he listened to Molly exclaiming about the promised entertainment and realised that it was all punctuated by an enthusiastic retelling of one Edwin Williams, his actions on that day, his gentlemanly conduct, his bravery, his intelligence, how she had never seen him so angry (and on her behalf too), and so on. He smiled to himself.
He hoped that Williams would have the backbone to accept her as she was and go against convention. He smiled ruefully at himself. Was he turning into a father now? Perhaps, he replied to himself. Or perhaps it was penitence for Harry. There was no reason why he shouldn’t though. Molly was independent and mature but she was sheltered too, and a lady. He would ask Holmes about Williams. His friend would know why instantly of course. But that had to be borne. Plus, the more allies the better.
But Molly was no fool and she was skittish so he told himself to ensure she came to realise Williams' affection and admiration for her by herself.
He schooled himself and listened to her saying for perhaps the eleventh time, "Did you see it, John? I have never seen him so angry."