Chapter Eight: Dearly Beloved…
7th March, 1888
"Now you have remembered the ring..." a decidedly nervous Dr. John Watson asked of his companion, while checking the straightness of his cravat for the sixth time in the last four minutes, as the brougham hired for the day pulled away from the door of 221b, and rumbled that Thursday morning down the street. "And the license...you did remember the license, did you not, Holmes?"
"Would this be the same licence I displayed to you in our rooms and once again at the front door as we waited for the carriage to pull up?" Holmes enquired, seated calmly across from the agitated groom-to-be, casually brushing some lint from the dove grey trousers of his morning suit with his matching grey gloved hand.
"Yes...right...of course," the older man fumbled, checking his own morning suit for any lint or markings, before glancing at his pocket watch. "Oh no! We're going to be late!" he gasped, appearing as though he may hyperventilate. "Mary's going to think I'm not coming!"
Holmes sighed, and withdrew his own pocket watch, opening it sedately. "Watson, I will remind you that the wedding is scheduled for eleven forty-five...not eleven thirty. It is now precisely eleven twenty-seven...” He glanced out the window to ascertain their position. “We are but five minutes away from the Registrar’s Office. Rather than being late, we shall in fact be early."
The doctor nodded, and tried to relax, though his hands were constantly fumbling with his gloves. "I'm sorry, old man. It's just...well, it's just..." He sighed with a shake of his head. "You think I would not be so anxious. It is not as though I've never been wed before!" he lamented. "Only...it’s Mary...and she's...so special, wonderful, understanding, kind...not that my sweet Constance was not any of those things...but Mary..." He trailed off, and gave his friend a lopsided smile. "She is one of a kind."
Holmes folded his arms lightly, a trace of amusement touching his lips. There were times when Watson's unabashed devotion to and worship of the female of the species...and Mary in particular...was sometimes irritatingly romantic and naive to him, and while the part of him that was a bachelor to the core could not help but think that his friend was on his way to foolishly giving up his freedom, he knew that Watson was the sort who needed someone like Mary like the air that he breathed. He adored her, and she made him happy. So for once, Holmes found only tolerant affection in reaction to his friend’s heartfelt expressions, as he nodded.
"That she is, Watson, as are you...and you are lucky to have found one another. However, if you do not leave your cravat alone, it will look a sight, and I will be forced to restrain your hands for the rest of the journey."
The other man's hand froze where it was as it again was adjusting the silken fabric, dropping it quickly. "Yes...right. Good idea," he agreed, flushing just a little.
Closing his watch and returning it to his waistcoat’s fob pocket, Holmes looked him over. "You look fine, my dear fellow," he assured him. "Positively dashing...you will quite sweep her off her feet. Not that you have not already done so. You've been her knight in shining armour for some time now," he noted with only the merest hint of jocularity in his tone.
Watson's eyes dropped along with his hands to his lap, a tiny, pleased smile on his lips. "Thank you, dear fellow," he replied almost shyly.
"I tell you though," Holmes commented, glancing out the window once more at the street as they passed, "I am grateful you changed your mind about the courtly wedding. With the switch to the registry office and small guest list, I am spared the dreaded best man's speech. I must remember to thank Mary for that."
Watson's chuckle bounced off the walls of the carriage. "Yes, well, I am most pleased she changed her mind as well. I honestly prefer a more intimate affair, and it makes more sense with both my family being either abroad or, like hers, deceased. Best to have just our nearest and dearest...though we are planning on having more over for the dinner party when we return. Still," he mused, “it was sweet of her to make the decision the way she did.” His attention drifted a little into that distracted state that Holmes had had to endure with increasing frequency as the wedding had drawn close. “She merely looked up at me as we talked about the wedding venue and adding to the guest list with more of her fellow governesses she has befriended, and stopped…reached for my hand…and said ‘Alternatively, John, we could discard all this and merely marry…after all, all I really want is to be your wife.’” He sighed softly in the remembrance.
As did Holmes.
“Yes, Watson…you did tell me.” The detective’s sigh emerged with more than a trace of weariness on hearing the story for the fifth time. "A very grand gesture I’m sure…and far more sensible for the pocketbook..." Holmes observed. "Especially after the groom has just completed the not inexpensive purchase of a medical practice."
"That too," his friend agreed with a smile, coming back to himself.
Holmes watched him for a moment, thinking on the purchase of the practice and the changes to come, before drawing in a long breath, and allowing his eyes to drift once more back to their passing surrounds as they finally turned right out of Baker Street and onto the unusually heavy late morning traffic of Marylebone Road. Though unwilling to look at his friend as he spoke, his words were light and seemingly casual. "It shall be quiet around Baker Street without you."
The older man regarded his companion quietly. "Well, you will be able to get your experiments done without me underfoot, as well as practice your violin when you like...besides I shall be over so often with work you'll be keen to send me home," he replied softly, trying to keep his voice jovial, but the hint that he too would miss the other's constant presence seeped in all the same.
"Of that, I have no doubt whatsoever," Holmes enthused suddenly, turning his eyes back to him. "The solitude will be glorious." And though he smiled, the truth was more accurately revealed in the fleeting softly affectionate look on his face, before he shook his head ruefully. "However, now I will have no one to consume all of Mrs. Hudson's breakfasts and keep her from nagging at me to eat."
Watson bit his lip to contain his laughter at that. "Yes, well...perhaps that is for the best," he teased. "Though you know you are always welcome at Mary's and my table."
His friend managed to look only slightly pained at that. "I am grateful for the offer, Watson, and may even avail myself of it, but to be honest your soon-to-be wife is almost a Mrs. Hudson in training." His brow creased in mild bewilderment. "Whenever I venture into her presence, she appears to feel some overwhelming need to repay me for what part I played in her case by ensuring I am more pampered then a European prince."
This time, Watson did laugh. "Mary is very keen on hospitality, and she will always feel she owes you a great deal with regards to what happened, so I’m afraid, old fellow, you will have to endure the outrageous pampering for some time to come. As for the redoubtable Mrs. Hudson, perhaps I shall have to look into finding someone to take my place...a stand in." He felt the slight smile form on his lips, as his eyes moved to gaze out the window. "Someone with a hearty appetite..."
His friend shook his head at that. "I was fortunate enough to stumble across an amiable roommate willing to put up with my…unusual…foibles once. It may be some time before I come across another chap willing to do so. Besides, my circumstances are not what they were when I first asked you if you were keen to share rooms."
"Mmmm," his friend agreed thoughtfully. "Perhaps then just a dinner companion..."
“I wonder how Mrs. Hudson would take to my inviting the Irregulars in for breakfast, lunch, and dinner?” Holmes mused aloud. “Their combined appetites approximate a respectably sized plague of locusts.”
Watson was about to laugh again, when instead he caught sight of the grey granite building that was the Westminster Council House and the home of the Registrar’s Office and sat up, his frame of mind instantly returning to his nuptials. "We're nearly there...how do I look? Did you remember the license?"
Holmes gazed at him levelly, his expression stoic when faced with the same question once again. "This, my dear fellow..." he indicated his friend's state with a sweep of his hand, "is precisely why I have always warned on the dangers and distractions of the female gender."
Watson made to reply, but was again distracted by the carriage slowing and coming to a stop in front of the large grey stoned building. "We're here..." he breathed, looking rather pale, and swallowing frequently.
"Courage, Watson!" Holmes hid a smile as he opened the door. "You've made it this far." Climbing out, he put on his hat, and, on spotting the bridal party stepping through the front entrance to await them, turned back to usher the bundle of nerves that was his closest friend out onto the street.
"Wait here," he said to the driver. "We shall be out, I'd imagine, around noon...once we emerge, you shall be taking the bride and groom straight to Paddington station."
"Right you are, sir," the cabbie agreed with a nod, grinning down at the agitated groom as he emerged from the brougham, and was so busy fiddling once more with his cravat, that he did not notice his bride-to-be and her small entourage. As he looked up on Holmes gently drawing his hand away from his shirt front, Watson finally caught sight of the three women standing in front of the building.
Though all three were equally notable in their own ways, his gaze found his bride immediately, his legs perversely riveted to the spot as she stood there, beautiful in her pale grey and blue dress, while talking quietly with her now former employer and friend, Mrs. Joanne Forrester.
Holmes moved to his partner’s side and followed his gaze to the front steps of the building and the object of his affection. Clearing his throat to stop the chuckle that was bubbling up, he patted the older man on the shoulder, before guiding the doctor’s grey top hat to his head. "Come along, Watson, let’s be having you," he said, taking some pleasure in deliberately sounding like a police officer about to lead away a condemned prisoner, as he nudged him forward along the pavement.
Taking a hesitant step forward under Holmes’s gentle shove, Watson gradually found the life in his leaden legs, so that every step he took grew a little easier as he moved towards the blue eyed, blonde haired figure of his waiting fiancée, and the smile that tugged at his lips threatened to split his face if he did not keep it under strict control.
By the time he reached the steps, he was moving at such a brisk pace that he was forced to skid to a halt right in front of her. "Good morning, Mary," he said softly, removing his top hat again, his eyes so completely focused only on her, that the two women on either side barely registered in his perception.
Her gentle eyes met his, and her smile was breathtaking to see. "Good morning, John," she replied, her tone full of her own joy and love.
Helen, who had been watching Watson’s approach, moved a couple of steps away along with Mrs. Forrester so as to give the couple some privacy, before turning to greet the other male member of the wedding party, only to find her breath catch completely in her throat. She had seen the doctor's friend dressed in evening wear on a couple of occasions now, and had found him attractive in that, but in his morning suit, complete with a splash of colour at his throat, she was quite at a loss for words, and was quite sure at that moment that he was the most striking man she had ever seen.
It was only when he turned to them, upon hearing Joanne greet him, that she became aware she was staring, and pulled her eyes away hurriedly, feeling more than a little off balance and disconcerted at her reaction.
"Good morning, Mrs. Forrester," Holmes returned the greeting, tipping his hat. "A pleasure to see you again. I trust you and your family are well?"
"Indeed, Mr. Holmes. What a joyous day this is!" she enthused, her smile wide and delighted. "Though I am lamenting that I shall no longer have the best governess in all of England."
"Nor I the most affable of roommates, Mrs. Forrester," he commiserated with a slight smile, before turning his attention to the lady in black beside her. "Good morning, Miss Thurlow," he greeted her, tipping his hat again. "It's good to see you, as always."
Struggling to find her inner decorum, she smiled back at the detective, and inclined her head. "Good morning, Mr. Holmes. It is good to see you as well, especially on such a happy day."
The tall man nodded, glancing at the engrossed Watson and Mary as he did so. "And if ever a couple epitomised the ideal of the happy wedding, I believe we have them," he noted with humorous acerbity.
"Indeed, indeed, Mr. Holmes! A fine match and none more suited than they," Mrs. Forrester agreed with a laugh. "Except for Cecil and I, of course."
Helen glanced over to her friends, who were speaking softly, the love they shared shining in their eyes, and beyond happiness and a little envy, she felt another twinge of anxiety and reserve...one of many she had had since agreeing to come to the wedding, for she was still dressed in deep mourning, and those in deep mourning simply did not attend such events as these, outside of close family, for propriety and fear of bad luck. And she did not want even the slightest chance of any ill luck coming to her new dear friend and her advisor. In fact, she had only relented upon some severe and rather persistent coaxing from the bride, and her lips pulled into a wry smile at the memory. Indeed, Mary had some rather surprisingly adept and ingenious bribing skills.
Watson tucked his hat under his arm as he gazed down at his fiancée. "Well, Miss Morstan," he murmured, swallowing a little nervously, but finding the anxiety beginning to slide away under her gaze, "shall we step inside?"
"I believe that is why we are here, John," she replied, her tone light but warm, as she took his arm. "Did you remember the license?"
Watson blinked, before frowning, and looking over at his best man, who closed his eyes in mild exasperation and tapped his breast pocket in reply. "Umm...yes..." Watson said quickly, as he sheepishly remembered the several other times he had asked the question. "Yes, we did." Drawing his eyes away from Holmes, he finally noticed the other members of the party. "Oh...Mrs. Forrester, Miss Thurlow," he greeted them with a smile. "Good morning. It's wonderful to see you both here."
"We would not miss this for the world!" gushed the elder woman, as she swept over to greet the groom. "Would we, Miss Thurlow?"
"No," Helen agreed, trying bury her anxieties and her feeling of being particularly out of place. "No, we would not."
"Still..." Watson returned, gazing at both of them, "we appreciate it greatly." He let his eyes rest on Helen, knowing from Mary that she had agonised over her attending. "It means much to both of us," he insisted, to which she gave him a small, shy smile and nod in reply.
Taking the moment to finally approach the bride, Holmes respectfully removed his hat before quietly saying, "My compliments, Miss Morstan. I wish you every happiness today."
She inclined her head in return, her blue eyes taking him in. "Thank you, Mr. Holmes. That means a great deal indeed, for I know I am depriving you of a most congenial roommate."
"It is some small consolation, Miss Morstan," he replied, "to know he is going to so understanding and caring a lady."
The doctor beamed broadly at his friend's complimenting of his fiancée, and patted his arm in thanks, as the former governess smiled softly at him as well. "You will be always most welcome in our home, Mr. Holmes."
Stepping to one side with a nod of gratitude, Holmes allowed Watson to lead his fiancée forward into the Registrar’s Office, before taking and holding the door open for the other two ladies in the party.
Inside, the grey granite building was a world of dark mahogany wood and smoked glass, as office doors, booths, and benches decorated the place with one large stone staircase dominating the area. Moving to the reception, Holmes enquired after the Watson/Morstan wedding, and on producing the wedding licence was directed upstairs and to the right to Room Number Twelve.
The wedding party made its way upstairs to the appointed room, outside of which there were yet more wooden benches where they were to wait until called. After seating themselves, they waited quietly, the tension oddly building again in this officious edifice...until finally, a thin, pinch faced man in a suit and high collar walked towards them from down the corridor, a file clutched in his hands.
"The Watson/Morstan wedding?" he asked.
"Indeed, sir." Watson stood with a smile, which was not returned.
"Are you John Watson?" the skinny man asked him, peering over his horn-rimmed glasses.
"I am," the doctor agreed with a nod.
"And which one is the bride, Mary Morstan?" he asked, glancing back down at the file.
"I am," the blond woman replied, moving to her fiancé’s side.
"Do we have two witnesses?" he asked after briefly glancing at her.
"Yes, sir," Watson responded dutifully with another incline of his head.
"And the licence?" the man sniffed.
"That most precious commodity we most certainly have," Holmes assured him quite vociferously, handing it to him to peruse.
"Very well..." The thin man closed his file, and opened the double doors to Room Twelve, leading them into a wide, brightly lit room that stood in stark contrast to the gloomy world outside the door.
The March sun shone in through the large windows, lighting the well decorated room, complete with a large, ornate, mahogany desk that was flanked by two Union Jacks and a richly carpeted floor. In front of the desk laid out in two rows leaving an aisle, were the seats. Walking forward and dropping the file on the desk, the little man turned his eyes back to them. "Take a seat - the best man to the right, maid or matron of honour to the left...the Registrar will be here directly," he informed them, before walking briskly out.
"Thank providence for that," Holmes murmured. "For a moment, I thought you were to be married by a weasel."
Helen held a hand to her lips to contain a laugh at that, though Mrs. Forrester chuckled openly. "Indeed, Mr. Holmes...what a frightful fellow," the older woman exclaimed.
"I am unsure,” said Holmes, “if council officials become that way due to their jobs...or are hired on the condition that they appear and act that way." He shook his head, before indicating to the ladies to sit on one side of the aisle, while Watson and he took the other.
Five minutes later, as they talked in the far more hospitable surroundings of the spacious room they had been assigned, an older man of about fifty-five with a broad chest, equally broad smile, and shock of thick grey hair wandered in and greeted them, introducing himself as the Registrar. Double checking the details in the file, he asked them all to assemble before him.
Picking up his book, he gazed at the bride and groom standing nervously along side each other once more. "We are gathered here today in the Registrar’s Office of Westminster City Council House, sanctioned by both the City of London and Her Majesty's Imperial Government to solemnise marriages in the State's eyes.”
"In this case, the marriage to be solemnised is that of Dr. John Hamish Watson to Miss Mary Elizabeth Morstan," the Registrar said, before looking around with a smile. "Now, under law I must ask...is there anyone present who knows of any lawful reason why this marriage may not take place?"
The room went very quiet, as all just gazed back at the man expectantly, and with a nod, the Registrar finally turned his attention to the bride and groom. "I must now ask you both in turn to make the following declaration...Miss Morstan repeat after me. 'I do solemnly declare that I know not of any lawful impediment why I, Mary Morstan, may not be joined in matrimony to John Watson.'”
Turning to face her betrothed, she repeated the words, her gaze bright and happy beyond measure, and was soon followed by her fiancé, who made the same declaration, his moustache twitching with the smile that was threatening to spread across his face once again.
The formalities observed, the Registrar gave Mary her next, far sweeter declaration, which she dutifully and obediently repeated, impulsively taking her groom’s hand in hers as she spoke the words. "I call upon these persons here present to witness that I, Mary Elizabeth Morstan, do take thee John Hamish Watson...to be my lawful wedded husband."
With a glad exhalation of breath, Watson in turn took the declaration, his eyes soft and warm, and his hand squeezing hers gently as the words that legalised their marriage passed his lips.
"The ring?" the Registrar enquired.
Reaching into his fob pocket, Holmes pulled out the plain gold band, and handed it to the doctor, who raised his bride’s hand slowly, his eyes on hers till he moved to place the sign of their love and commitment upon her.
With a wide smile, and sudden unstoppable tears of joy in her eyes, Mary brushed bashfully at her cheek when one slipped free as he slid the ring on her finger.
"With this ring, I thee wed," he said quietly, his eyes never leaving her face, and his fingers entwining with hers as soon as the ring was in place.
Content, the Registrar nodded, and closed his book, turning his attention to the others in the room once more. "Ladies and gentleman, in the eyes of the Crown and Her Majesty's Government, I declare this couple legally wed...I give you Dr. and Mrs. Watson."
A burst of applause came from their small guest list, as the newly wed couple turned to take the acclamation and be congratulated thoroughly by each one present, before the Registrar invited them and the two witnesses to sign the registrar.
Holmes stepped forward after the bride and groom, and signed his name to the register, before looking up and handing the pen to Helen to follow suit. "Here you are, Miss Thurlow," he said, glancing at the newlyweds. "Be the one to forever seal their fate."
Her cheeks flushed a little, as she glanced over to Joanne Forrester, her expression wary on whether it should be she that should be so bold. However, a quick shake of the head and smile from the other woman put that to rest, and Helen took the pen, and signed her name under the detective's on the witness line. Turning to her friends, she smiled warmly. "I believe I much more enjoy signing my name on marriage licenses than on shipping contracts. It has a much better feel," she said with no small amount of jocularity.
Watson beamed broadly at everyone in sight, the smile that had been threatening to overwhelm his face finally taking hold.
"Really, Watson…" Holmes shook his head, jokingly despairing of his friend. "Contain yourself, or your good lady wife will know for certain that she has you firmly in her pocket."
The older man gazed down at his bride as she held his arm. "Alas, my dear fellow, she has known that for a good deal of time already."
Mary's quiet smile spoke volumes as she looked up into her new husband's eyes. "As I am in yours," she replied warmly.
Holmes regarded the besotted pair, and knew then and there that he would get little coherent thought from his colleague upon his return from his honeymoon for possibly quite some months. Picking up his hat from his chair, he took on the role of best man again. "Come along, Dr. and Mrs. Watson...I believe there is a train you must catch. Your luggage already awaits you at the station."
"No...no…wait!” Mrs. Forrester held up her hand, her eyes dancing with merriment. “Seeing as we are not to have a celebration until your return,” she said to the newlyweds, “there is one tradition that has not taken place that must before you depart. The bride simply must be kissed. It would be both unlucky and a travesty to send a bride upon her honeymoon un-embraced…it simply won’t do.” She clasped her hands adamantly, her eyes turning to the groom.
“Oh no…” Mary’s cheeks flushed a bright shade of pink at the idea of a public kiss. “Really,” she replied with a nervous shake of her head.
Watson’s gaze, however, went from his bride to her employer and back again, any shy reluctance dissipating the moment his eyes caught his wife’s again. “Very well,” he agreed with a nod, puffing out his chest, and placing his hat upon a seat, before turning back to her.
“John…” Mary began to demure, only to be silenced by the descent of her new husband’s lips to hers, while his hands rested on her upper arms. For a fraction of a moment, she remained utterly still, her eyes fluttering shut, before her hands slipped to his waist, as she eased into the gentle caress with a soft sigh.
Pulling back, a definite glint in his eye, Watson smiled at her - an unambiguous hint of a man victoriously claiming what was now his about him, his smile only widening at her deep blush, before looking over at Mrs. Forrester, and receiving a delighted if somewhat misty eyed smile and a small round of applause from her. “Splendid, Doctor, just lovely,” she approved whole heartedly, before her mischievous eye turned to the dispassionately patient face of his colleague, who on catching it, immediately gave a short laugh and turned leery.
“No, Mrs. Forrester,” he replied with a shake of his head. “I don’t think so.”
“Oh come, come, Mr. Holmes!” she insisted. “It is a tradition…the best man must kiss the bride. That’s where the luck comes in!”
“Madam…such ideas are the stuff of fantasy, fairytale, and…” He trailed off, as he caught the small array of amused and expectant faces around him, his shoulders slumping slightly on realising that it was unlikely that he would escape the room without performing the action. “Very well,” he breathed, placing his hat on the seat beside Watson’s, and taking a step towards Mary, whose smile this time was not the least bashful, the nervous discomfort in her husband’s best friend’s face far too amusing for that.
“My respects,” Holmes murmured, before leaning in and pressing his lips briefly to her cheek.
“Thank you, Mr. Holmes!” Mary smiled at him cheerfully, as he pulled back. Watching from the side, Helen stifled a chuckle which died a little as she suddenly felt a pang of envy for her friend’s situation once more…though this time, it had little to do with her marriage.
Clearing his throat noisily, Holmes scooped up both his hat and Watson’s, which he handed to him, before tucking his own under his arm. “Shall we go?” he stated more than asked this time.
“Yes, yes! You must both be off!" agreed Mrs. Forrester, her voice jovial, as she ushered the pair to the door. "You must not start your life together with a missed train! That will never do! No sir, never do!"
Moving back downstairs through the dark building, they emerged once more into the sunlight and walked down the steps towards the carriage that had carried the groom and best man there, and which would now escort the newlyweds away. On reaching the carriage, Mrs. Forrester produced a bag of rice which she offered to Helen, and together, they showered the doctor and his new wife as Holmes opened the door, allowing the laughing and waving pair to bustle into the carriage.
Closing the door behind them, Holmes regarded in at his friend. "My best wishes, Watson," he said quietly. "And to you too, Miss...Mrs. Watson," he corrected himself, giving her a smile as he extended his hand.
Returning his gesture, she took his hand and squeezed it softly. "Thank you, Mr. Holmes," she replied.
Turning it over, he kissed the back of her gloved hand through the window, his expression a great deal less self conscious then before, and then offered his hand to his friend. "Enjoy yourself, Watson," he instructed the older man, flashing him a quick smile. "Try not to lose yourselves in the countryside...I'd rather not have to find a new Boswell."
Watson took his hand and shook it warmly. "Fear not, Holmes...my overly romanticised stylings shall continue to chronicle your achievements a while yet," he promised, before his eyes grew a little sober at the awareness of the things that could happen to Holmes virtually overnight. "Take good care of yourself in the meantime."
With an incline of his head, his friend stepped away from the carriage. "Don't I always?" he replied, and before Watson could retort beyond a derisive snort, he ordered the cabbie on his way.
As the carriage rumbled away, Mrs. Forrester turned and beckoned to her driver, who was waiting down the street. "I too must be on my way," she said, turning to the detective and young woman. "It seems I must begin my search for a new governess!" And with a chuckle, she held out her hand to Holmes. "It was good to see you again, sir...and in much happier circumstances!"
Taking her hand, Holmes bowed over it. "Indeed, Mrs. Forrester...and I wish you luck in your search."
"Thank you, Mr. Holmes, thank you," she replied, before turning to Helen. "And good to meet you as well, young lady! I am so glad Mary found a friend such as you!" she enthused, giving the startled woman a hearty embrace.
"Thank you, Mrs. Forrester," she returned, though a little flustered by the woman's boisterous ways. "It was good to finally make your acquaintance."
The older woman grinned broadly, before turning and bustling into her carriage, though just before the she signalled the driver to pull away, she gazed at the duo on the pavement for a moment from her open window. "By Jove, you both make a handsome pair! Hmmpf! Yes, indeed, most handsome!" she exclaimed, and, with another wide smile, called to her driver and sped away.
Helen stared after the carriage with a rather embarrassed and shocked expression on her face. Not entirely sure if she should laugh, or shrink into her dress at the blunt compliment, she turned her face away from her remaining companion.
Holmes regarded her for a moment, before turning back to watch the retreating carriage, shaking his head at Mrs. Forrester’s determinedly romantic ways. Feigning an air of mild perplexity, he mused, "Mrs. Hudson said something similar this morning about how I looked in this suit..." He glanced over at the young woman in her black dress. "And your dress is quite fashionable. I suppose, we do make the rather handsome looking pair...it would be a poor showing if we didn't look our best for a wedding." His response showed no inclination towards taking any other meaning out of the remark than that of their mutual presentability, and putting his hat back on his head, he turned to address her more directly. "Well, Miss Thurlow, it seems we have been left stranded together."
Breathing an inward sigh of relief at his interpretation of the comment, she turned back to him and nodded. "Yes, though I do have a ticket for the one thirty train back to St. Albans." She frowned slightly. "I suppose, I should head towards the station, though I must say I do have something of an appetite. I had to leave the house early this morning to attend to some business before the wedding."
Checking his watch, which read five past twelve, he nodded. "There is time…and if you would not think it unseemly, I would be glad to escort you to the station where we could have a spot of lunch. There are one or two hostelries nearby that serve a reasonable standard of food."
Giving him a friendly smile, she inclined her head in assent. "No, I would not think it too unseemly, and would be most grateful for the company, Mr. Holmes. Train stations are awfully boring places to wait...never mind the décor." Her nose wrinkled at the thought. "Dreadful colours."
"Very true," he agreed wholeheartedly. "So much effort in design only to be let down by horrendous colour sense." Crossing to the outside of the path to walk alongside her as they moved of, he continued, "Now the French know how to provide a quality decor and entertaining place of departure...have you heard of the Gare du Nord?"
She shook her head, though her eyes were bright with curiosity. "The North Station?" she translated.
"Yes, it is in Paris...and is beautifully designed and fashionably appointed, with several marvellous cafes and restaurants done in a variety of styles, as well as providing live music and dancing for the passengers while they wait. It is an elegant way to travel. Watson and I were there while waiting to catch the Orient Express. The French have their drawbacks, as do all nations, but style they never lack."
"Sounds delightful," she returned, flashing him an envious smile. "I do hope to travel in a few years, when things in the company have settled down a bit. France is first on my list, then I think Switzerland."
"Italy..." he interjected without hesitation. "Rome, Florence, Venice...and, of course, Naples."
She sighed and nodded in agreement. "I would love to see Italy...and Egypt...the ruins alone fascinate me, never mind the art and culture."
Holmes glanced around him, as he voiced his thoughts. "I would encourage you to travel extensively, Miss Thurlow, as your friend Lady Margaret has done...perhaps you and she might take a European tour together? She would seem an ideal companion."
She gave him a slightly mournful look. "I would, Mr. Holmes, however, Maggie just informed me two weeks ago that she is with child, so I fear there will be little travelling for her in the near future. And with the boys still being so young, I fear any extended travelling of my own will have to wait until they are at school."
"I see..." he replied with a nod. "Well, there is plenty of time, and I'm sure other friends....although, of course, it may well be that one day you will travel with your husband."
She arched an eyebrow up at him at that. "Possibly," she agreed, her mind again noting how dashing he looked in his attire, for it seemed he was made for that suit, and how his face seemed to light up when he discussed a subject he was interested in. Suddenly becoming aware that she was almost staring at him again, she turned her eyes away hurriedly, and focused on their walk. "Do you get the opportunity to travel often?" she enquired, trying to find her footing once more, and chastising herself for her thoughts.
"Quite often." he replied. "I have done a number of services for governments and individuals around Europe and on occasion farther a field. Watson has accompanied me on many of them."
Her eyes widened, as she shook her head. "Now I really am envious, Mr. Holmes. Perhaps I should become a detective," she mused, shooting him a teasing glance. "Though my deductive skills leave much to be desired."
"On the basis of our little adventure in Exmoor, I find them no worse then Watson's," he responded, turning his eyes to her for a moment. "Which is to say, though I would ask you not to inform him I said it, a great deal better then most people."
Surprised, she gazed back up at him, clearly pleased by the compliment. "Thank you, Mr. Holmes," she replied with a genuine smile. "And not to worry, I shall keep your confidence on the matter. My lips are sealed."
"I would appreciate it, Miss Thurlow. There is little worse to live with than a smug Watson..." He paused for a moment, as though just remembering that he no longer shared rooms with the doctor. "Though, I suppose that is now Mrs. Watson's concern."
She laughed a little at that. "Yes, but you still have to work with him, as she must live with him, and I would hate to give either of you cause for worry."
"Then on behalf of us both...I thank you," he returned with an incline of his head, before looking over at her. "The end of your period of deep mourning for your father will occur in two months..." he voiced quietly. "Brothers or not...you should think of getting away for some travel. You could always hire a tutor, and take the family to Switzerland for a time...the air would do you all good."
She smiled softly up at him, rather touched that he had kept track, and pleased that he was concerned for her well being, though unsettled by the flip flop of her stomach that had accompanied it. "I shall keep it in mind, Mr. Holmes, but with Maggie's baby due in late August, I would want to remain close to home. She is dreading going into confinement, and I have promised to visit her often to keep her from as she puts it 'utter boredom.'" She shook her head a little. "So, I'm afraid the English country air will have to do this year."
"There are worse places," he said with a conciliatory smile. "Still, you are a good friend," he noted of her actions, before again turning his eyes to take in the busy activity of the London streets. "Both Watson and his new bride would no doubt agree."
She blushed a little at the compliment, feeling rather honoured at the many he was bestowing on her. "Well, I do try to be," she murmured. "To all my friends."
"It is a time consuming thing," he observed, "and one that shapes your life. I suppose that is the one reason why, along with being a difficult fellow, I have few friends. I cannot afford them, anymore than they can me."
"Well, you have been a fine one to me," she replied, before her cheeks turned bright pink at her slip of the tongue. "I...I apologise...that was rather presumptuous of me..." Her gaze focused swiftly at her feet and the pavement, as she kicked herself inwardly once again for her over active mouth.
He turned his eyes back to her, scrutinising her silently for a moment. "There is no presumption, Miss Thurlow. It would be hard to rationally deny that our interactions have long since passed that of a professional capacity...and indeed that of mere acquaintances. It seems, therefore, quite obvious that all we have left is friendship...so therefore...even though I hardly ever considered it to be a title I would bestow upon a woman...we must conclude that we are friends," he pronounced, as he walked casually onwards. "And while I rather doubt I have been a fine one...I thank you for the thought."
Having fully expected to be chastised for her slip of the tongue, she found his admission of their friendship even more off balancing. Taking a moment to collect herself, and flashing him a grateful smile, she hedged, "I am most honoured that you think me so, for I do enjoy our conversations."
Holmes pointed across the street to the small cafe beside it. "Well then..." he replied, glancing at the clock on the station wall, "perhaps we can continue our discussions over a light lunch?"
"I would be pleased to, Mr. Holmes," she agreed, before following him across to the cafe.
Lunch was light and swift with Helen's train due to leave in less then forty-five minutes, though the topics of discussion covered in that time were many and varied...not least of which were the nuptials that morning and the suitability of Mary for Watson and vice versa.
There was, however, no escaping the fact that Holmes for all his good natured banter on the subject was clearly going to miss the presence of his friend around Baker Street, and was of the firm opinion that their future time together would be severely reduced. There appeared to be no resentment in the topic, merely a resignation that Helen could not help but feel rather sad to hear, and that despite all outward appearances, Sherlock Holmes was not the wholly self contained, composed, cold fish he liked to portray himself as.
He would miss his friend...and he would be lonely.
After lunch as he walked her to the train, there was no doubt in her mind that Mr. Sherlock Holmes was not only the foremost consulting detective the world had ever known, a brilliant intellect and rationalist, and expert on several topics ranging from chemistry to stitching....but a very human being indeed.
And as the train left the station, she was left with an image in her mind of an iceberg - glacial and pristine from what you could see, but with the true depths buried beneath still waters. Her journey home was half way done, before she realised with a blush that she had spent it wondering about those hidden depths and whether she might ever get a glimpse of them.