The Other Woman's Point of View
WARNING: Don't read this if you've not read The Other Woman. It won't make sense and is full of spoilers for that story which contains all the action.

I've written this short as I'm not sure how obvious what the other woman's perspective was to anyone outside of my head. Their early relationship is based in part on my own with my now husband. Both men are considerably older than the women in question, I was also twenty four when we met and neither my husband and I, nor John and XXXX, were aware of each others feelings on meeting. I thought my now husband thought I was a little girl and was patronising me when he was being caring and it came as a big surprise when we got together, for both of us. We've been married for nearly twenty years now and still happy together. I'd rather like the same for Dr John Watson, but I have a wicked streak ...

Chapter 1: We Meet

It's a tense moment when you meet someone who you've admired by reputation or through their work and you want something from them. I'd dressed to give the greatest impression of being vulnerable and in need of a protector - how could I have know that the man I met would have such a profound effect on me on every possible level. I could hardly breath and, I believe, that I also couldn't remove my hand from his arm for the longest time, well beyond the acceptable three seconds for personal contact.

I'd been reading his blog for some weeks by then and could see what an amazing person he was; loyal, brave, humourous, caring and one of the most moral people if what he wrote was genuine. He had no idea of the effect he was having on me and was always prepared to play second fiddle to his friend, so some considerable humility, which is one the most appealing traits in any man and so rare. Took my breath away. I wish I'd dressed like an adult and been more businesslike on that first meeting, but then there may never have been a second one. I'm sure he only brought it to Mr Holmes as he pitied me and was being protective.

When we met he treated me like a little girl - not so much in what he said but his tone. It was obvious that he felt sorry for me but thought me a child with a child's problem. It was rather painful feeling the sudden emotion that I did for him. I'd never felt like that about anyone before; not on first meeting nor over time. Everything about him, his voice, his eyes, the curve of his jeans, his smell, his 'my mother dresses me' shirts and knitted jumpers ...

But every time I thought he was taking me seriously, there was the avuncular pat on the shoulder and the patronising tone. I nearly turned down his offer to speak to Mr Holmes about my case. I wasn't sure I could manage another interview like that.

Chapter 2: Reassessing the Situation

I can't tell you my feelings when I got his text suggesting a meeting just the following day. Mixed. Mixed and mixed up.

I dressed in more adult clothing for that meeting. I doubted that Sherlock would be impressed with my little girl lost act and 'he' needed to know I wasn't a baby.

When I turned up, I knocked at Mrs Hudson's door. We'd met earlier the previous day when I'd called round and the occupants of 221B had both been out. I'd then been waiting around the corner when I'd seen the Doc coming home - there was no chance involved in our first meeting. I'd decided from what Mrs Hudson had said that I'd do better appealing to him first. Wise woman.

I was really nervous that he'd not be there, so it was with some trepidation that I knocked at their door. I needn't have worried, I think he was protecting me by being present as his friend could be quite intimidating. Shows how he underestimated me. Sherlock is one of the least scary people - what's so scary about being a genius and outspoken! - I've met in a long time. You know just where you stand with him - the sweety. Anyway, Mycroft is an old friend of my father's and has told me some stories about his brother that brings his reputation right back down to earth.

It was him who made the social faux pas though - it would have been funny if not for the seriousness of my parents' deaths. I felt a bit sorry for him as he looked so uncomfortable, something I'd have ribbed a longer standing friend about, but we didn't know each well, so I pretended that it hadn't happened.

I couldn't look him in the eye after that. I knew I'd just see apology and pity and I couldn't bear that from the man I'd become so attracted to and already admired and I wished he saw me the same way and as an equal. And then, as always, I used humour to try to break an awkward situation and made it so much worse, joking about him kissing me when he obviously didn't think about me in that way. I knew the kind of woman he went for; sophisticated or at least mature and rather motherly. As far from how I'd portrayed myself on our two meetings as can be. I couldn't get out of there fast enough and I'll bet he was relieved that I'd gone too.

Our next meeting was embarrassing for a whole other set of reasons. I'd managed to get a couple of hysterically funny anecdotes out of Sherlock by the time he arrived at the restaurant and made the mistake of letting him know that. I think I was trying to redress the balance and make me seem a little less childish, but managed the complete opposite. He was also obvious bored with my company and started drinking rather more than either Sherlock or myself. I did try to draw him into the conversation when it came round to him, but I'm not sure if it was boredom or humility that kept him from having his say. I'm rather assuming the former.

I did what I could to remedy the situation by asking Sherlock about their other cases and about the Doc's involvement. I had a whole new level of admiration when I heard about his measured and skillful way of dealing with situations. Sherlock showed off about his techniques, but it was this man's quality of character that impressed me most.

And again I messed up by offering a steadying arm on the way out - I was honestly concerned that he'd walk into something the amount he'd drunk - but that withering look again, like I was so beneath him, so I pretended not to notice him banging into all the furniture. At least he's human, that's something; I was beginning to find the perfection a little intimidating.

Chapter 3: No Progress

I didn't contact either the Doc or Sherlock for a couple of weeks. I guessed that he'd had enough of me and there was nothing to report on the case anyway.

When something did happen, I hit an intimate tone with my text and hoped he'd notice the personal touch and that I didn't hold a grudge for being patronised within a inch of life. I signed with my initials only, I didn't think I could get away with anything that intimate yet.
meet me at our cafe, 5.15, XX

Nothing had changed. I'd think we were getting somewhere and then would come 'the tone', like I was a toddler about to kick off a tantrum or a potential teenage breakdown. This time I confronted him. It was that or break down and weep and that wouldn't have convinced anyone that I was really a grownup.

By this time I was really creeped out by the packages. He didn't seemed that bothered that they'd been able to get into my flat without detection every time. I'd have thought anyone that protective would have at least suggested he go over security with me onsite. I'd not suggest it though, things were tricky enough anyway and I wasn't sure of my ability not to jump him that near to my bedroom.

Anyway, all those feelings culminated in my going completely overboard and bawling him out - stupid little girl! Sooner or later when someone treats you like you're seven years old, something snaps and as often as not that's how you start acting. I also tried to tell him how I was beginning to feel about him, but he cut me off obviously repulsed. I think we're friends now, but he still finds me immature and I'm obviously not sophisticated enough for him.

It wasn't quite how I pictured the first time he saw me in a towel, but he didn't look horrified or scream or yell at me to get dressed. I think it more likely it's as he thinks of me as an asexual being and simply didn't notice, most men would have said something or made a pass. At least I found out that he didn't realise how the packages were being delivered and he found out that they were arriving inside my well secured flat. I think this is progress, though I do worry that he didn't think to ask something so basic to the investigation.

Not that long after we had our 'date' over London, free running over the roofs to my skylight. I know I impressed him - he can't possibly have realised my pathological fear of heights - and he impressed me too by not being daunted by our exploits. I doubt he knows any other free runners and he'd obviously not done anything so daring so high over the streets of London before. Sherlock obviously hasn't introduced him to the Jackfield Jumpers; I'll have to remedy that one day, they're such a laugh.

And boy can he go from a standing start! Took to free running like a duck to water, well maybe not a duck, but some enthusiastic animal who climbs ... I'd not have taken that leap first time up, adrenalin or not. Squirrel maybe - oh LOL now there's a picture!

Chapter 4: Stand-off
During the next few weeks I shared as much as I could with Sherlock. He tired to get me to with meet alone with the Doc a few times, but I wasn't ready to be cold shouldered so soon. As fun as our free running day was, he couldn't wait to get off that roof and away from being alone with me, so I figured he'd not mind my making myself scarce for a while. We saw each other around though a few times and my feelings hadn't changed, and neither had his apparently.

And then we had a real row while working on a tough, but boring case that Sherlock was pulling out all the stops for, so I got him to play the Game to save our friendship. I've never know anyone be such a natural at Dare or Date. I think he won hands down, but I wish his attempts to kiss me had been something other than the whim of the moment. It's a start though and at least he doesn't treat me like I'm seven anymore.

Sherlock convinced me finally that we had to act to bring them out of the shadows or we'd never get to the bottom of Moriarty's scheming. It was dangerous and rather stupid really, especially with not telling Sherlock about my previous dealings with Moriarty, but I agreed that we had to take the bull by the horns. And if we were going to risk all, I had to tell John about my feelings for him. But he didn't show as planned, so I gave Sherlock a message, which I had no doubt he'd have bodged or forgotten to give altogether, if anything had happened to me. And now here I am in hospital, more stunned by having my feelings reciprocated than the bullet I took. Life's pretty grand!

So, that was 'dear diary' up until the point I got shot; that last short entry was written in the hospital when I was first admitted. I didn't write anymore as I got rather busy with physio and spending time with the man I'd grown to love more than life, once we both realised all the stupidity and the time we'd wasted. Time that could have been well spent given what's happened since and that we probably won't ever see each other again.

My notes: I leave it to my gentle readers to decide whether they want her to be Mary, Dr Watson's wife in Conan Doyle's original series, or for her to be an accomplice of Moriarty's, sent knowingly to distract Dr Watson. I have my own take on this personally. But why not speculate a little ... It's all up for grabs as neither Conan Doyle nor the BBC has enlightened us on this episode in the Sherlock saga.