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John let out a sigh as he started his car to go home from work. Mary had been on maternity leave for some time now, so he was used to driving home alone, but on days like this, where he felt more tired than usual, he liked to have the company to help him stay focused on the road – or have Mary do the driving instead. He turned on the radio, hoping that it would help.
There was not much of interest in the day’s news until John’s ears perked up when there was mention of a missing person.
“Helen Doran, daughter of Alan Doran, American technology firm owner and entrepreneur, has gone missing after her wedding to Robert Simon this weekend. She was last seen at her father’s house, where the wedding reception was to take place. Those with any information are encouraged to contact the police. It is still unclear whether this is a case of foul play.”
John expected Sherlock would soon know about this, if he did not already. He thought about it for a while, but soon found that he was home and it slipped from his mind.
He went up the front steps of his house to find that the door was ajar. He considered that perhaps Mary had accidentally left it this way if she had run inside upon hearing the baby crying, but she had not been planning on going out that day. John pushed the door open and entered slowly, beginning to shift into soldier mode.
“Mary?” he called out cautiously. There was no answer. He crept inside and started to look around. Nothing was majorly disturbed in the immediate vicinity of the front door, though the few papers – unpaid bills – that had been sitting on the table had been scattered. But that could have happened just from walking quickly past.
“Mary?” John called out again. Again, no answer. He looked around and found nothing amiss, but Mary was also nowhere to be found. He went up the stairs. When he got to the top he turned to go inside his and Mary’s bedroom. That was when he finally saw what had happened. Or, at least, an index of what had happened.
The room was in disarray. The bedside table had been knocked over, the objects that had sat atop it strewn across the floor. The dresser drawers were open and had been rifled through. The bed was practically unmade, the sheets wrinkled and bunched to one side. It was then that John heard a low sound. He followed it to see that Mary lay on the floor on the other side of the bed, gagged and with her hands bound.
“Mary!” John exclaimed. He hurried over and untied her. “How long have you been like this? When did they break in?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she said once she could speak. “Maybe an hour ago? I can usually get myself out of this, but I suppose even trained assassins have bad days.”
“Did they hurt you? Did they take anything? What about the baby?” The words kept sputtering out of John’s mouth.
“There were two of them. They didn’t take anything, including the baby. I made sure of that. What I did give them though…”
“What did they want?”
“Information…They threatened to hurt me…and then they did…when I wouldn’t tell them where the base is located for the operations…that I used to be a part of.”
“Did you tell them?”
“I had to. They threatened to hurt our little girl…and I suspect I’ll have a good black eye by tomorrow morning, if not tonight.”
“Oh, thank goodness, they didn’t take her” John sighed. “But do you think they’ll be back?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, I hope they’re satisfied with what you’ve told them and that they won’t come back.” He held her tight, relieved that she was alive and in one piece. “I’ll go check on our daughter.”
---
Things settled down after the scare that day. Mary did get a black eye, as well as some other bruises, but she was otherwise fine. John took a day off work to help her with the baby and the house, finding it unfair that she should be left alone all day with her injuries, even if they weren’t critical ones.
Things were getting back to normal when Sherlock texted John, alerting him of a new case. He responded that he was on his way. When he arrived at Baker Street, Sherlock was on his laptop.
“Took you long enough,” Sherlock muttered when John entered before looking up and smirking. John smiled.
“So,” he said. “What’s the case this time?”
“Helen Doran,” Sherlock replied. “Went missing after her wedding a few days ago.”
John remembered the story he heard on the radio. “What do you know?”
“According to the media, she married Robert Simon, son of the politician Gerald Simon, for the money, but her father was in technology, so even if she did come from a less-endowed family, the difference in their families’ wealth couldn’t have been that great, and would still prove financially advantageous. But enough about that. It was a relatively small, fairly private wedding and the bride disappeared during the wedding breakfast at her father, Alan’s, home. It was a quiet wedding except for the disturbance by an unknown woman who tried to force herself in, spouting unflattering claims against the groom and his father.”
“Did she arrive before or after Helen Doran went missing?” John asked.
“Before,” Sherlock said. “But there is little other information in the papers. I’m hoping her husband will be able to fill in some more of the details.”
As if on cue, there was a knock on the door downstairs. They heard Mrs. Hudson answer and show the man in. In a few moments, he was at the top of the stairs in the doorway to the flat, introducing himself to John and Sherlock as Robert Simon.
John had expected a younger man, but Robert Simon had thinning hair that was beginning to grey. He dressed well, but in a way that the effort to do so was too obvious.
“You must be Mr. Simon,” John said.
“Yes,” the man replied. “Nice to meet you.” He extended his hand and John was given a firm handshake. Simon moved to Sherlock, who declined the gesture, leaving the man in a momentarily awkward position.
“Start from the beginning, Mr. Simon,” Sherlock said, sitting back in his chair but his eyes alert.
“Right,” Simon said. “I met Helen last year in San Francisco. I had heard of her father before meeting her since he’s one of the richest and most active entrepreneurs in technology right now. He had only recently become rich when Helen had turned twenty. Because of that, Helen never got to go to university, but to say she isn’t intelligent would be completely wrong. She is still well-read. Strong-willed and clever, too. I was immediately enthralled by her.”
With that, Simon pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket and showed the two of them a photograph of Helen. It was very flattering and professionally-taken.
“Did you become engaged shortly after meeting?” John asked.
“No, not at all,” Simon replied. “Once my father’s engagement in San Francisco was over, we returned to London and I didn’t see Helen again until the spring when she was in London with her father. She would help him with his business, you see. Anyway, it was during that time that we were engaged to be married.”
“You were aware of the financial gains involved in marrying her?” Sherlock interjected.
“Of course, I was,” Simon replied. “How could I not be?”
“And you would know how much more wealthy you would become through your union? How much exactly?” Sherlock probed.
“I have nothing to say on the matter,” Simon said, shifting his feet beneath him. “But I will tell you that it was not merely for financial benefit, and certainly not only for my own gain. The feeling was mutual. The day before the wedding, Helen could barely contain her excitement, talking of the future.”
“And on the day of the wedding?”
“The same. I have never seen a happier bride. That is, until the ceremony. She began to feel agitated when she dropped her bouquet on her way up the aisle. A man who happened to be sitting in the pew where she dropped it returned the bouquet to her. I’m not sure why it upset her so much. I don’t think it disrupted the ceremony for even a minute.”
Simon paused, then. John glanced at Sherlock, who had his fingers clasped pensively. John knew then that this seemingly unimportant moment must hold some detail that he could not fathom.
“But despite that, nothing seemed particularly strange before Helen disappeared,” he continued. “The only thing that stands out to me is that she had a brief word with the maid once we got to the house after the ceremony, but it didn’t seem at all surprising for her to do that, though I thought everything for the wedding had already been taken care of. I heard her mention something about ‘jumping a claim,’ but I didn’t let it concern me, since the wedding was the most important thing at the time. And anyway, their conversation didn’t last long. She joined us in the dining room as we waited for everyone to arrive.”
Robert Simon paused again.
“Is that all?” John asked, thinking that perhaps this was everything Simon remembered.
“No,” Simon replied. “After a little while, Helen said she was feeling tired and wanted to take a short rest in her room before we started the party. She went upstairs. She still had not come back down by the time all our guests had arrived for the reception, so I excused myself to go make sure she was all right. She wasn’t in her room. I looked around and noticed that her wardrobe was open and her coat missing. I didn’t know where she could have gone, I haven’t seen her since that day.”
Robert Simon stopped there.
“Are you sure you’ve told us everything, Mr. Simon?” Sherlock asked from his position in his chair.
“Yes,” Simon replied, shifting his feet again. Sherlock stared at him expectantly.
“What?” Simon asked. “You don’t believe me?”
“There is something you’ve failed to mention,” Sherlock said, unfolding his hands and leaning forward towards Robert Simon. “There were reports of an unknown woman who disrupted the wedding party, spewing unflattering remarks about you and your father. And yet you failed to mention such a disturbance.”
Simon shifted in his chair again, breaking his eye contact with Sherlock. Finally, he gave a sigh of resignation.
“Oh, all right,” he said. “Yes, there was a disturbance. She wasn’t unknown to me. Her name is Flora Millar.”
“How did you know her?” Sherlock asked, still leaning forward expectantly.
“I was hoping it wouldn’t have to come to this,” Simon said. “If possible, I would like to keep this out of the press. It could damage my career. Flora’s a stripper. I’ve known her for many years. She had an unrequited attraction for me, but I never had any relations with her, not before and not after meeting Helen. When she disturbed the wedding she was escorted off the premises and we didn’t hear anything about her after that. Are you happy now?”
Sherlock leaned back again. “Yes,” he said. “Thank you, Mr. Simon. Do you have a photograph of her?”
“…Yes,” Simon said, taking his phone back out of his jacket. “Here.”
Sherlock examined the details of the picture.
“Are you aware that later that day, Helen was seen in Hyde Park, wearing her coat over her wedding gown, walking with a woman fitting Flora’s description?”
“That comes as a complete surprise to me,” Simon replied. “And I don’t know how I wouldn’t have seen them. We could see Hyde Park through the window of the house.”
“I see,” Sherlock said, seeming to dismiss that last fact. “If that is all, you may go now, Mr. Simon.”
“Thank you, Mr. Holmes,” Simon said, rising from his chair. “I hope you will be able to find her.” He nodded to each of them and left.
“What do you think, John?” Sherlock said, turning to his friend. “A strange wedding day, was it not?”
“Not that much stranger than mine was,” John replied. He noticed that Sherlock reacted with a face that suggested he did not want to remember that day. John tried to quickly change the subject back to the case. “But anyway, yes, a strange wedding day, those two had. Did Mr. Simon’s story give you much to work with?”
Sherlock got up from his seat. “Yes,” he said. “Or at least, enough to begin with. I’m still working out a few things, but he was definitely helpful.”
Sherlock walked over to where his violin case was resting, opened it, tuned the instrument slightly, and began to play.
Sherlock’s thinking took such a beautiful form when he played violin. He may not have been a professional musician, but that didn’t matter to John. It was not a real performance, he knew, but it was more intimate that anything you could hear at a concert hall. John savoured the moment, listening to Sherlock’s thinking music, remembering when he could hear Sherlock play any day, anytime.
His thoughts were interrupted by his phone buzzing in his pocket. He took it out to see a message from Mary.
I have something very important to discuss with you. Please come home as soon as you can.
John waited for the piece to end before speaking.
“I’m sorry Sherlock,” he said. “I have to go home. Mary needs me for something.”
Sherlock looked like he was trying to hide the disappointment on his face. “Right.”
---
Mary was waiting for John in the living room when he got home. Her face was hard to read, which seemed intentional, but she was not completely succeeding. She looked troubled, but there was also a hint of determination on her face.
“What is it you wanted to talk to me about?” John asked her, sitting down across from her.
“They might come back,” Mary said soberly. “The men who broke in. They know where I live now, and that I will give them the information that they want. Apparently, the location of the base wasn’t enough. Even though I’m not active they might come back for information.”
“How much of a chance is there?”
“More than is comfortable.”
She did not need to say more; John knew what this meant.
“How far away do you think you’d have to go?” John asked her. “Somewhere else in England?”
“No,” Mary said. “America, at least, perhaps to South Africa from there. I’m not sure yet, but either of those should be safe enough for us.”
“Us?” John asked. No, this wasn’t right. Why was he asking whether both of them would go? Weren’t they a married couple, supposed to do things together?
“Yes, John,” Mary. “All three of us.”
“You expect me to go with you?” John felt his temper rising, though he was not completely sure why.
“John!” Mary’s was rising, too. Understandably so.
“You expect me to leave my best friend?” John asked. He was nearly shouting now. “Who brought me out of the darkest time of my life? Who gave me something else to live for when I thought there was nothing left for me?”
“Didn’t I do the same for you?” She was nearly shouting now. “When you thought he was dead?”
“Well, he’s not actually dead now, is he?” John retorted. “Do you really expect me to leave him after everything the two of us have been through?”
“That’s a choice you’ll have to make, then, John,” Mary said, slowing the pace of her speech in attempt to regain control. “Your wife and child, or your friend.”
He let those words sink in for a few moments. “I suppose you’re right.”
---
He barely slept that night. He doubted Mary did, either, though he wasn’t sure since she wasn’t the type to toss and turn in bed like he was. He tried not to mess up the blankets too much, though minimizing his disruption of her rest was not exactly much comfort.
Both Sherlock and Mary had saved him, in their own ways. Both had hurt him, too. Both had given him something he had wanted in his life: purpose. The thought of leaving any of those things behind tore his heart in two.
---
He arrived at Baker Street the next morning in a groggy state. He was distracted on the way there, but somehow managed not to take a single wrong turn on the way, it was so instinctive.
Sherlock appeared to be inside his mind palace when John entered, his eyes closed. It was a few minutes before he opened them.
“Ah! John!” he said, rising to his feet. “You came at a good time. Lestrade is on his way here now to share what he’s found in his investigation at Hyde Park.”
“Yeah, great,” John said, lacking his usual interest.
“Are you all right, John?” Sherlock asked, suddenly more serious. “You’re clearly sleep-deprived.”
“Yeah, I am,” John said. “It’s not important.” Why did he lie like this?
A minute later, Lestrade arrived.
“Hello, Greg,” John said, trying not to sound apathetic. He did care about the case, but his mind was full of so many things it was hard to stay in the moment.
“John,” Lestrade replied with a nod. “I’m not sure how much farther this gets us, but we found Helen Doran’s wedding gown in the Serpentine, and her shoes. We had Mr. Simon come down to confirm that. She was sensible enough to get a dress with pockets, and inside we found a business card holder with a note inside.”
Lestrade reached into his coat pocket to show Sherlock the note.
“It says, ‘I will see you when everything is ready. Come straight away, F.H.M.’ It’s written on the back of a hotel bill.”
He handed the note to Sherlock, who proceeded to examine it. After a few moments, the corners of his mouth turned up into a grin.
“Very good, very good,” he said. “This helps things along very well, indeed.”
“You’re not looking at the side with the note,” Lestrade said.
“Right.”
“Don’t you think the note is proof that Flora Millar is to blame for the disappearance? Look at the initials. The back of the note is just a bill.”
“Yes, the initials also help. Thank you, Lestrade. You may go.”
“But…” Lestrade sighed. “All right. Let me know when you’ve figured things out.”
John watched Lestrade leave before turning back to Sherlock. He considered the thought of not seeing him again for a long time, how he could barely stand it the last time it had happened. Could he do it again?
“So,” John said. “What does the note tell us?’
“I just need to confirm those initials, but I have just about got it. The fees on the bill are from an expensive hotel, and I believe whoever is staying there is who will give us the rest of the answers we need.”
“Would Millar be able to afford it?” John asked, still puzzled.
“No,” Sherlock said. “No, I don’t believe so. We would be hard pressed to, as Lestrade has attempted, to prove that Flora Millar is the culprit.”
“Then who?”
“Patience, John.”
Sherlock grabbed his coat and headed out. “Be back soon” was all he said before disappearing down the stairs.
---
John sat in his familiar chair while he waited for Sherlock to return. He wondered why Sherlock had not asked him to come along, but then realized that he would not have been much help. He had barely been able to keep his mind in the present moment when Lestrade had come.
He remembered when this very chair had seemed to have disappeared from the living room after he had married, before eventually being restored to its proper position once Sherlock knew that John would never really leave him. He wondered…if he really did leave, would the chair disappear again?
---
Sherlock looked very pleased with himself when he returned to the flat.
“I suppose you were correct?” John asked him.
“Oh, yes, John,” Sherlock said, as giddy as a child on Christmas morning. He pulled out his phone and quickly typed something out. “Sit tight, John. Lestrade will be here in...” his phone beeped, “…twenty minutes, and we will be having some other special guests as well.”
“Special guests?” He did not think he had ever heard Sherlock say such a thing.
“All will be revealed, John,” Sherlock said. “But for now, I will tell you I was right. Flora Millar is not the one responsible for Helen’s disappearance, certainly not as a kidnapper or anything else of the sort.”
“Then who?” John asked.
“I won’t spoil the surprise.”
---
As the evening began, a delivery man arrived at Baker Street and lay out an expensive meal.
“Ah! Mr. Moulton’s generous gift has arrived!” Sherlock said excitedly. John wondered who Sherlock was talking to, but did not bother to ask, assuming he would not get an answer.
A while later, there were more arrivals. First was Robert Simon, who was muttering about what his father would say and worrying about whether his family’s reputation was on the line, followed soon after by Lestrade. A few minutes later a man and a woman entered the flat. The man, John did not recognize, but the woman he did from the photograph Robert Simon had shown them – the woman they had known as Helen Doran. The man extended his hand to John and Sherlock in turn.
“Pleased to meet you, I’m Frank Moulton,” he said. “And this is my wife, Helen.”
She turned to Robert Simon after the introduction.
“I’m sorry,” she said to him. “I know you must be angry.” Simon was standoffish, but said nothing in response.
John’s phone buzzed in his pocket then and he turned away to sneak a glance at the message – another from Mary.
Have you made up your mind yet? it read.
He typed back a quick reply. I have.
He turned back to the guests to hear just as Mrs. Moulton – he supposed that was one way to address her – was beginning to speak.
“I met Frank at a technology industry conference when my father was giving a presentation there. Frank had just started a new project which he hoped would succeed. We kept seeing each other and soon we were engaged. But Frank’s venture ended up failing, so even though my father initially approved, he no longer wanted us to get married. Though not together, we both went to San Francisco around the same time and met up again. I couldn’t stay long, but I promised I would marry him the next time we could meet. Instead of leaving it at that, we decided to get married in secret, then and there. My father didn’t know, so I went to live with him. Meanwhile, Frank went to Silicon Valley to start another project, hopefully to have success this time. One day, it was reported that there was an office fire. The papers reported Frank among the dead, though it was a mistake, but I did not know that and so I believed it. It was around then that Robert came to San Francisco. We eventually went to London and our marriage was arranged.”
John looked at Lestrade, who looked just as surprised as he was at this revelation. Sherlock, meanwhile, looked pleased with himself.
“I told myself I could be a good wife to Robert, if I couldn’t have Frank,” Helen continued. “But that all changed when I saw Frank sitting in one of the church pews as I went down the aisle. I didn’t know what to do, so I dropped my bouquet in front of him, pretending it was an accident. As he bent down to grab it he quickly scrawled a note and stuck it in the bouquet before he returned it to me. I knew then that I had to leave the wedding as soon as possible, which was after the church ceremony. I could explain later. When I finally met up with him, I told Frank I had thought he was dead, and he told me about the mistaken report in the news. He assumed I would had received a correction once that was cleared up, but I never did.”
“How did you know to come to London?” Lestrade asked Mr. Moulton.
“I had gone back to San Francisco after the fire,” he said, “but she had already gone to London. I was directed to her new address here and flew over as soon as I could. After that, well, you know what happened. Needless to say, we are very happy to finally be reunited.”
“Yes, I can only imagine,” Lestrade said. John nodded in agreement.
After the story was over and Lestrade took note of what he needed to bring back to Scotland Yard so that they knew that no kidnapping or murder had occurred, they all sat down to the meal that Mr. Moulton had generously provided for them.
“There’s just one thing bothering me,” John said, turning to the couple. “Even if you were married to Mr. Moulton, how are you not also married to Mr. Simon?”
“Robert and I had been to the church,” Helen said. “But we hadn’t signed the papers yet, so we weren’t legally married. And neither of us are that religious, really, so the church wedding is more of a formality than anything binding.”
“Plus, I suppose you can’t get be married to someone else once you’re already married, anyway” Mr. Moulton added with a laugh. Robert Simon did not seem like he wanted to join in on the humour, but he appeared to be coping.
When everyone had left, John finally got a chance to ask Sherlock how he figured out who Frank Moulton was and his connection to the case.
“It was not difficult,” he said. “As I already alluded to, his note to her was on a bill for one of the most expensive hotels in London; there are not many with rates as high as those written on it, so I knew it was someone wealthy who she would have already known. After that it wasn’t much, just had to find out who was staying there with the initials matching the note.”
“I see,” John said, “brilliant.”
Sherlock, though still clearly proud of himself, was surprised. “It’s been a while since you’ve said that.”
“Has it?” John replied.
“Yes,” Sherlock said. “It’s been eight months, exactly.”
“I suppose it has been a long time…”
---
When John got home that night Mary seemed calmer than she had when he had left the house.
“What did you decide?” she asked, giving him a peck when she came in the door.
“That America might not be so bad,” he replied.
Before they went to bed, Mary booked them plane tickets from London to America – John did not ask which city, he did not care. In the morning, they woke up early to pack their bags. Mary said they should only pack the essentials, but soon discovered that when you know you will never be returning, almost everything seems essential. She somehow managed to fit everything that she needed, leaving out the few things she could bear to leave behind. John also did the best he could, folding his shirts efficiently as he had learned to do very on his way to work in the mornings
They loaded everything in the car, the baby being the last. Mary noticed John still looked anxious as they were driving.
“I won’t let anything happen to us ever again,” she said to him, reaching one hand over to his shoulder to try to relax him. “We’ll be safe there. I know it.”
John did not calm down, however. They got to the airport a little late, though since they were there for an international flight that meant they were still there a few hours before they were scheduled to board.
As they were walking to the gate, where they would be waiting around yet again for quite some time, John offered her one of the suitcases – one of hers – that he had been carrying.
“Let me hold her for a while,” he said. “Take a rest.”
“Thank you,” she said, handing her daughter over to her husband’s outstretched hands before taking the light suitcase he had been carrying for her.
John looked down at his daughter in his arms, bouncing her lightly as Mary had been doing to keep her calm. He could not stand the thought of not watching her grow up. He knew he had made the right choice.
The gate was at the end of a travelator. The people were just beginning to form a queue to board.
“We’re just in time,” Mary said, before turning to her husband. She found herself talking to the air. She turned around to look behind her. He was nowhere to be seen.
---
John dragged his suitcase with one arm and his baby daughter in the other. He struggled to get the wheels up the steps to the door of 221B, be he did it, only stumbling a little through the door.
Mrs. Hudson had heard the noise and came to greet him.
“John!” she exclaimed, her eyes glowing. “What a pleasant surprise! I didn’t know you were moving ba-”
John put a finger to his lips. Mrs. Hudson stopped herself, understanding what he meant, before winking at him and gesturing up the stairs.
He carried the baby up with him, leaving the suitcase to be retrieved later. He strode into the flat happily.
“We’re home, Sherlock,” John said when he saw his friend drinking tea in his chair by the unlit fireplace.
“John!” Sherlock quickly put down his cup and practically leapt out of his seat. “Mary called this morning, saying the two of you were leaving today for America.”
“Change of plans,” John said, unable to stop himself from grinning anymore. “Well, for me, anyway.”
Sherlock let out a breath that was a cross between a gasp and happy laughter, smiling brighter than John had seen in a long time.
“Will you have us?” John asked.
“Of course I will!” Sherlock then turned away for a second, and John heard his breath interrupted by a quiet sob.
“It’s okay, Sherlock,” John said. Sherlock turned back to him, his eyes full of tears. He saw that John’s were the same, but they were both still smiling. Sherlock rushed over and, careful not to squish the baby, wrapped John in a hug.
“Welcome home.”