John Watson did not consider himself particularly knowledgeable when it came to love. He did, however, learn a thing or two about perception in his many years teaming with his best friend, the World's Only Consulting Detective, Sherlock Holmes. And it was clear as day that Sherlock was positively smitten...
It's just a shame that it had to be with his older brother's wife.
When John Watson entered 221B Baker Street, arms overflowing with groceries (and other various sundries that Sherlock had insisted that he purchase - including three bottles of iodine, which had earned him quite a few sideways glances), the last thing that he expected to hear was laughter. But as he propped the door open with his rump, easing the bags in one-by-one, the undeniably sweet, caramelized notes of distinctly feminine laughter grew ever louder.
He slipped inside and closed the door behind him, before starting to remove his coat. Now, the laughter was joined by a cacophony of other sounds - the sound of Mrs. Hudson merrily blabbering on about everything and nothing, the subtle scrape of the metal tea kettle against the porcelain tea cup, and the clang of the spatula against the cookie sheet. Could Mrs. Hudson have company? She must have friends besides Sherlock and himself, right?
That laughter returned - thick and syrupy and sweet. It was an eerily foreign sound to John, and he couldn't help but recall all the unfamiliar faces that they had come to regret trusting. Nonetheless, if she'd desired to hurt Mrs. Hudson, wouldn't she have done so already? He began to move toward the kitchen, thick, heavy footfalls disturbing the lightheartedness of the room. The laughter paused, and he couldn't help but feel as if he was intruding. Soon, though, it didn't matter.
John found himself standing in the archway of the kitchen, watching as Mrs. Hudson fixed another round of tea for herself and her guest. Looking up, she offered John a sweet smile. "Ah, John. I wasn't expecting you home so soon." She turned to her guest, "I was just entertaining Mrs. Holmes, here - she's here about the wedding."
"She is?" John was visibly confused. Sherlock had mentioned contacting someone about the wedding, but never once hinted that they were in anyway related. "Oh, I'm sorry, where are my manners?" He extended his hand to her, offering a small smile. "I'm Doctor John Watson, it's a pleasure to meet you."
The mysterious Mrs. Holmes rose to her feet, standing a full inch-and-a-half taller than John Watson. "The name's Alice Holmes... and the pleasure is mine."
"Please excuse me if this seems frank, but..." John couldn't help but see the handsome rock that lay upon her finger. "Sherlock doesn't seem like the marrying kind. I mean, I know that a lot can happen in two years... and we're still attempting to conquer some major trust-issues... but I'd like to think he would have told me this."
Alice smiled understandingly. "No need to worry, Mr. Watson." She offered him a brilliant smile. "That would be Mrs. Mycroft Holmes."
John blinked slowly, soaking her words in. And then, "To be honest, he doesn't seem to be the marrying kind either."
That beautiful, rich caramel laughter returned. John could feel heat staining his cheeks. "Oh, he's not. Strictly a political affair. An utterly loveless affair. Nothing you'd read about in a Nicholas Sparks novel, at least." Her smile was a bit more subdued this time. "But enough about me. This is your wedding, after all."
"Yes, um..." He looked her over. "Would you mind... coming upstairs? My fiancé and I would love to meet with you... Sherlock has nothing but praise for you."
Alice raised an eyebrow. "That's an incredible accolade, coming from such a stuffy man." Her tone was teasing, and her eyes were dancing. "Sherlock and I go back quite a ways. In fact, I usually don't do professional performances anymore... but Sherlock demanded only the best for his very best friend." That smile returned.
Retrieving her tea cup from the table, she thanked Mrs. Hudson with a kind smile and subtle bow of the head, before following John upstairs. Once they entered the flat, John motioned for her to take a seat near the fireplace. He then vanished down the hall, intending to find his fiancé and introduce her to their new organist. Alice lazily sipped at her tea - a sweet mixture of black chair and milk and honey - while she waited for his return.
When he finally returned with Mary in tow, Alice set her cup aside and rose to her feet, brushing invisible lint from her white lace dress. She crossed the distance between them, considerably less amiable then she had been in first introducing herself to John. The tension between them was palpable - two women with a secret, both a little too keen on the disguise that the other was wearing. Extending her hand, Mary took it quickly and they shook.
Love. Warmth. Motherly. Caring. Charming. Devoted. Nurse. Liar. Liar. LIAR.
"My husband always said that a handshake can tell a lot about a person." Alice smiled. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ms. Morstan. Sherlock has told me so much about you."