Chapter Text
After the many, many years that my dear friend Sherlock Holmes and I have spent living together, there has been much speculation about the nature of our relationship. Although I am a firm believer that what we do in the privacy of our own home should not be disclosed to the public, I do have to admit that our bond has long surpassed that of a regular friendship. Such I can only admit to myself on the blank pages of my own diary, which house the many unreleased cases of Sherlock Holmes and the blueprint of my own heart in writing. Truly, it is safer for us to keep such facts secret, but it seems that my companion allowed it to slip past his lips during one of our outings to see a ballet which was originally meant to be our introduction to a potential case.
As I stormed back to our flat, I couldn’t stop my hands from clenching into fists as I tried to calm my nerves. It was such a reckless act on my partner's end. Didn’t he understand the risks he was taking and the possible danger that he had put us both into? This could destroy both of our careers and our reputations. We might have to face trial or be doomed to years of hard labor or prison.
I opened the door, closing it slowly behind me as I took a deep breath in and out, trying to get a hold of myself.
“Holmes?” I called as I began to make my way up the stairs. Once I had made it to the lounge, I could see him smoking from his chair while looking out the window. I stepped closer, reminding myself to keep calm while I try to get a hold of the situation and think up some ways to dispel the so-called ‘rumors.’ I kept my distance as I began to speak.
“My dear Holmes, I have always kept the utmost respect for you, and never have I doubted you, but even now I cannot help but think of the consequences of revealing such… intimate details about our relationship,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady and even, but I seemed to have failed, “How could you not think about the way that this can affect us? This could lead to our ruin, Holmes!”
I waited, expecting an answer, but my companion had stayed silent. I stepped closer to the chair and placed my hands on either side of it before looking over, expecting to see Holmes, but I was surprised when I was met with nothing but a simple contraption that he had used in his study of ash, which created the illusion of a man smoking a pipe.
I furrowed my eyebrows, staring down at the empty seat before me until I heard a chuckle from the corner of the room. I looked over and was met with Holmes, who stood in the shadows as he pumped the foot pedal, which continued the fabrication.
I stuttered as I tried to form my racing mind into a coherent string of words, distraught by the audacity. After what he has done! He has doomed us both, and here he was acting as if this were all but a cruel game. All I have sacrificed to try to keep this a secret, all I have done to ensure the safety of both of us, all undone in a mere few words, and there he was, laughing at my very much justified anger. Sometimes, he truly could be unbearable.
“How could you invent such a dastardly lie?!” I finally managed, “What the deuce were you thinking!” Then, I was myself unsure of whether I was referring to the rumor or the illusion; perhaps it was an amalgamation of both.
Suddenly, I felt very faint and stumbled back, but caught myself on the chair's armrest. I clutched my head as I heard a faint ringing, and I heard Holmes step closer in alarm.
“I must sit down,” I muttered, and felt Holmes rush past me. He threw aside the contraption, which was previously nestled in the chair, before leading me to sit down. My head ached in a very familiar fashion, placing me in a state that was very familiar to me. I often found myself like this when I am in great stress, and right now was no exception. My bad leg was not helping one bit, either, aching from a night full of dancing. I was utterly exhausted.
I glanced down and saw Holmes resting his chin on the armrest with his elbows on either side of his face. His grey eyes shone with the familiar look of worry he so often tried to conceal, yet his eyes were always his greatest traitor. They truly were the window to the soul, the one reminder of mine to prove that Holmes is still human, and I really do regret that I have to remove such moments from my writing.
I scoffed. I always did find it difficult to stay angry at him, yet now was not the time to ignore the conversation. We were both in great danger if we did not find a way to dispel the rumor or at least find a way to stop it from spreading further.
“John, you have my most abject apologies,” Holmes muttered sincerely as he lifted his head. His thin fingers wrapped around my own as he lifted my knuckle to his lips, placing a quick peck on it. I couldn’t help myself when the edge of my lips curled with the sound of my Christian name on his tongue, something we are only able to use in absolute privacy. We have created a habit of using each other's surnames in public and in my own writing, so hearing him say my Christian name was a rare treat among the few, short slivers of time where no one else was around to hear. He let go of my hand before standing up, his lean figure straight as he began to pace back and forth behind me.
“But you must understand the situation that I had found myself in. I was cornered by a madwoman, and I seemed to have found myself in a state of panic when she brought up the idea of some… uncomfortable matters. You understand what I am implying, Watson. The words slipped out before I could properly think everything through. A truly careless blunder on my end,” Holmes explained as he paced, before pausing. I looked behind me to get a better look at him, yet he was facing away from me. “How could I be such an idiot?” He muttered under his breath.
“My dear Holmes, don’t speak of yourself in such a manner!” I said sternly as I turned to look at him, and even from behind, I could tell that a smirk had appeared on his face. I huffed out a quiet laugh before taking in a deep breath in an attempt to compose myself. “Holmes, you just must be able to understand my frustration. You have put both our careers and our relationship on the line. And we must do something about it! Word cannot get out further, because we both know what will happen,” I stated, doing my best to keep my voice even. I stood up and stepped closer to him, placing a hand on his shoulder despite the quiet protests of my leg.
“Yes, I know,” Holmes sighed as he lifted a finger to his chin, seemingly deep in thought, “I don’t understand what came over me- to make such a foolish decision! If I could just turn back time- if I had more time to think in the moment-” he began to ramble before I cut him off.
“No use in pondering over the past now, Sherlock. What is done is done, now all we can do is find a way to dispel these rumors,” I explained. Holmes let out a frustrated sigh. We both stood in silence for a second, nothing but silence and the tick of the old clock in the corner consumed the room.
“Maybe if we got married?” I suddenly blurted out.
“Then they’d really talk!”
I let out a hearty laugh at the response. “As much as I wish we could, my dear Holmes, that is not what I was referring to. I was talking about what I had done with Mary. Oh, I am so happy that our paths crossed when they did. She truly was such a nice and pleasant woman. When she explained her desire to love freely, I had only then realized that marriage would be— although not the most joyous arrangement— it would be the safest one while we kept our relations with those we loved. Oh, do I miss her dearly.” I let out a sigh at the memory of our dear friend, “Perhaps if we find another lady who is in a similar predicament? There must be someone else out there!”
“This is all so ridiculous,” Holmes groaned, “Why must we hide in such foolish ways?”
“Because we cannot take this risk, Sherlock. People will not understand. Maybe someday, but not now,” I explained.
Holmes rolled his eyes with a frustrated puff before he continued, “we could sue those who talk of us for slander? After all, you do have an enviable record with the fairer sex.”
“Oh, stop it, you,” I said with a playful shove, before we both stopped dead in our tracks. There was a knock at the door.
“Were you expecting someone?” I asked, looking back at Holmes.
“Not that I know of,” he muttered with a raised eyebrow. He quickly made his way across the room and down the stairs, and I decided to follow him.
I could hear the quiet banter between Mrs. Hudson and another man before Holmes’ voice cut through the air.
“What is it, Mrs. Hudson?” He asked as he stood at the top of the stairs.
“There’s a cabby here,” she yelled up to him, “Says you owe him two and six.”
“For what?”
“For the fare, Governor,” The cabby said with a tip of his hat, “The young lady don’t have no money.”
“What young lady?”
“This one,” The cabby said before dragging in a woman through the door. Her eyes were closed, and she shivered under the blanket draped over her. She had curly light brown hair that was clearly once in a bun but was left as nothing but a rat’s nest after a great deal of stress. Her eyes and cheeks seemed sunken in, as if she has not eaten for days. She was clearly weak as she leaned against the wall, her legs shaking and barely able to hold herself. Her pastel purple dress was dripping with water clung to her thin figure.
“Who are you, miss?” Holmes asked patiently as he stepped down the stairs, and I followed him. I was quickly at the woman's side, as she looked very unwell.
She looked back at Holmes for a moment, clearly dazed as her eyes adjusted to the light, still leaning against the wall.
“I don’t know,” she said weakly, her eyes flickering between Holmes and me.
“She’s shivering,” I stated, looking back at Holmes, “And she seems very unwell. Perhaps I can examine her?”
“Oh, I can tell you that much. All she’s been saying is ‘I don’t know’ this, and ‘I don’t know’ that. Won’t tell me a thing,” the cabby said, his voice fast and high with a hint of frustration, “Found her in the river while I was divin’ down the Embankment, just below Weminster bridge. And there she was, in the water, drownin’! Fought me the whole way when I tried to get her out.”
Holmes raised an eyebrow, stepping closer to the cabby. “Well, then, why did you bring her here?”
“Oh, well, I found this in her hand,” the cabby said as he pulled a card from his pocket, handing it to Holmes. He quickly angled it to show me, leaning in a little bit. It was a simple piece of paper, written in pen with the address ”221B Baker Street” on it and nothing else. He put the paper into his pocket, careful not to crumple or crease it as he handled it.
“Young lady, what did you want at this address?” Holmes asked as he turned his attention back to her, but she just stared blankly at both of us, mouth open.
“Well, nice talking to you, gentlemen, but I now must take my leave,” The cabby said as he tipped his hat again. “That will be two and six.”
Holmes let out a quiet, frustrated sigh before digging back into his pockets, pulling out some money, and handing it to the driver.
“Thank you, Governor,” the man said before taking off the blanket on the woman’s back and closing the door behind him, leaving the four of us alone in the narrow room.
I quickly came to the woman’s aid as she tried to stand up straight without the support of the wall.
“You’re shivering, my dear,” I said as she looked at me with half-lidded eyes, “Come along, now. Let’s get you next to the fire and out of these wet clothes, and then you can tell us all about what happened.”
I led her to the stairs, helping her up each step as she waddled on her unsteady legs, while Holmes followed after.
I dragged the chair that was sitting in front of the window next to the fireplace and eased her into it. I glanced at the contraption connected to the pipe that sat on the floor and signaled to Holmes to pick it up with a nod of my head. It took him a second to realize what I was trying to communicate, but he soon caught on with a quick ’oh’ and picked up the device, shoving it into a closet full of other trinkets and contraptions.
I turned my attention back to the woman, analyzing her every breath and action as she heaved, her limbs gone limp in the chair.
“She’s suffering from shock and exposure,” I stated to Holmes, not bothering to glance up as I tried to gather more information. I placed the back of my hand on her forehead, looking for any signs of a possible cold. From what I could tell, she didn’t have a fever or a cough, which I did find a little odd. After almost drowning, you would still be at least coughing for a few hours as your body tried to rid itself of any foreign substances. Another common symptom was chest pain, yet she did not show any signs of discomfort or difficulty breathing. Although she showed many symptoms of near-drowning, she was missing a few of the common symptoms that persist after the incident, which raised my suspicions.
I glanced back up at my hand as it rested on her forehead, and my eyes darted to the side of her head, where a bruise was visible. I carefully moved her hair from the spot as I further inspected it, before bringing it to Holmes’ attention.
“Look at this,” I projected, “She has suffered a nasty blow on the head.” I looked up to see how Holmes discreetly put the paper from the woman back into his pocket before stepping closer to look at the bruise.
“Could she have hit her head when she fell or jumped into the river?” Holmes asked as he leaned in.
“No. The blood had already coagulated,” I answered before glancing back at my companion, “So it would appear that she was a victim of a deliberate attack.” I glanced back at the woman who was in such a sorry state, a feeling of pity washing over me. “Get my bag, will you?”
Holmes took one last look at the patient before stepping away into the room over, quickly grabbing the bag that held my supplies for my medical practice.
“Who are you?” The woman said in a thick accent as she turned to me.
I gave her a warm smile. “I am Doctor Watson,” I explained, before looking back at Holmes as he approached with my bag, and I raised a hand towards him. “And this is Sherlock Holmes,” I continued. He gave a quick nod in acknowledgment before handing the bag to me.
“Do the names mean anything to you?” Holmes asked in the same calm way he always managed when speaking to clients. I always found his ability to switch his manner so quickly in front of clients fascinating; he always seemed so different around them.
“No,” the woman answered plainly.
“Think!” Holmes responded as he stepped closer, “What about your name?”
The woman shook her head, yelling, “I don’t know!
“She’s under a lot of stress; give her a moment,” I cut in, turning to Holmes, “She seems to have had a concussion, which can lead to temporary amnesia. Maybe we should turn in for the night. She might be feeling better tomorrow.”
Holmes let out a small huff of dissatisfaction as he turned to look at the floor with his finger on his chin. The sigh of defeat he let out showed me all I needed to know. He knew I was right; we won’t get any answers if we go on like this. I allowed the corners of my mouth to curl into a small smile of satisfaction.
I turned to the woman, kneeling next to her place on the chair. “Now, you can sleep in my room,” I stated, “You require decent rest, and I assure you that I will be just fine on the couch.” I helped the woman out of the chair, and as she stood up, she seemed to take a tumble. Holmes caught her in time, helping her up with a hand. Under the warm light of the room, the ring on her finger glistened with a peculiar bronze hue, which seemed to have caught Holmes’ attention. He slipped the ring off her finger before holding it up to the light.
“Do you mind if I look over this for tonight?” Holmes asked the woman without looking down from the ring, “I assure you that it will be safe in my hands.”
The woman didn’t respond with anything more than a nod before I led her to my room, but I could still a flicker of distrust in her eyes. I yelled for Mrs. Hudson, telling her to bring a spare robe and slippers that we had lying around.
With that, I returned to Holmes, who was still looking at the ring.
“So, what do you see?” I asked him as I leaned over the back of the chair, looking at Holmes as he examined the ring closely.
“The couch is uncomfortable,” He suddenly stated.
I responded with nothing but a “What?” After all, the answer did not correlate with my question. His attention shifted from the ring as he slipped it into the pocket of his trousers. His grey eyes that always seemed so sharp and cold seemed much warmer as they glistened under the light of the sitting room.
“What I mean is…” he began rather bashfully as he rubbed the back of his neck, “You could… always take my room?”
I couldn’t help the soft smile that appeared on my face as I watched the oh-so-composed and serious detective blush like a schoolgirl asking her crush to the dance. On any other man’s lips, the words would sound suggestive and crass, but knowing Holmes, that was not his intent.
Holmes continued, his words fast and anxious as he spoke, “I mean, chances are I won’t even sleep tonight. It would be a shame to see you sleep on those cushions made of stone when a perfectly comfortable mattress stays vacant and empty.”
I let out a chuckle as my hands found my companion's shoulder. “My dear Holmes, as much as I would love to accept the offer, you must understand the kind of risk we would be taking,” I explained, “With the current… rumors going around, it would not help our case if a client were to find me sleeping in your bed or leaving your room in the morning.”
It truly was a shame I had to turn down such an offer, as I often found I sleep best with Holmes beside me. I have also noticed that even when he claimed to be staying up all night to work on a case, I would, on rare occasions, find myself waking up next to the thin figure of Holmes, illuminated by the morning sun as he rested.
I could see a twinge of disappointment on Holmes’ face as he turned to look to the side, but judging by the way he reached into his pocket to pull out the ring and piece of paper, he understood and wanted to speak of the topic no longer.
“Watson, look here,” he said as he stepped closer to the desk, placing the paper under the light of the lamp, “Something was written on the back, but it washed off in the water.”
I stepped closer, peering over his shoulder. “Yes, it seems as much.”
“This is all very odd, though. The paper suffered very little damage itself. Besides the slight deformation, it seems to be completely whole. It’s not even torn at the edges! For a woman who was holding it while drowning, the paper came out relatively unharmed. And this ink… The same ink seems to have been used on both sides of the paper, yet only on one side was it smudged, and it seems to be done so on purpose…”
The more we spoke of the woman, the more odd the situation seemed to become. “If it may be of any help, while I was checking on the client, she was missing many symptoms that would be expected from one who nearly drowned,” I stated, “She wasn’t coughing, she didn’t show any signs of chest discomfort, nor did she have a fever. If I had to guess, it would be that she wasn’t in the water for long.”
“Excellent, Watson!” Holmes exclaimed, “That may very much prove to be important for the case. I believe that it is now safe to assume that this woman was not drowning at all. Now, the question is why? Why would a woman feign drowning?”
“Attention, perhaps?” I asked, “Maybe she needed a large crowd for… something?”
“A plausible theory, yet we lack the data to assume such,” Holmes said, now pacing around the room with a finger on his chin. “I am afraid we must put a pin on the question,” Holmes sighed before turning back, looking at the chair she once sat in. He suddenly stepped closer to the shoes she had left behind, before glancing at them. ”La Femme Elegante,” he whispered under his breath.
“Is that French?” I asked, “Perhaps she is French?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Holmes said as he looked back at me, “She doesn’t have the accent. If I had to guess based on her accent and the way she speaks, I would have to say somewhere in northern or northwest Europe, yet I lack the data to pinpoint where exactly. But this is very helpful, my friend. Now we know that she was in France not long ago, so now the question is, why was she in France, and why did she leave?”
He suddenly moved to the table and placed the ring under the light with a magnifying glass, before he gestured at me to come over.
As I looked over his shoulder, I could see how inside the ring, the names ’Gabrielle & Emile,’ were engraved, and the ring itself was made of copper.
“So, we know that her name is Gabrielle, and her husband is Emile,” Holmes pointed out, before taking the ring back and throwing it up into the air, “And, since this ring appears to be made of copper, we can assume that they are lower class.”
“And she had no corset,” I added.
“Yes, exactly!” Holmes exclaimed as his hands landed on my shoulders.
“You really are enjoying this one, aren’t you?” I teased with a smirk.
Holmes did nothing but crack a guilty smile. “Yes, I might be, but can you really blame me?” Holmes asked, “We’ve never had a case like this! A woman comes to us with a problem, and we don’t know who the woman is or what the problem is. It is a pleasant challenge following such dull and monotonous weeks.”
He was practically brimming with the same excitement he so often attempted to hide. He often said that it was the one way people would take him seriously, but it was nice to see him break that character every once in a while.
“Now, Watson, I will keep you no longer,” Holmes announced, “You have had a long day, and you must be tired.” He wished me a good night and rushed off to his room.