This story takes place immediately after "His Spare Watson". John is still at his medical conference, and Mary has gone back to work after her three-day leave in Cornwall, helping Sherlock with a case. A companion piece to this story would be the "Vicious Rumours" chapter of "Making Friends and Forming Alliances."

000

After a gentle knock, the exam room door opened revealing Janet, the efficient receptionist, her usually friendly face looking uncharacteristically concerned. "Dr Watson?" she began, "there were people here asking to see you. I think they were reporters."

"Oh, bollocks," Mary sighed. She'd known this day would come eventually, but had hoped to put it off a bit longer. She and John had been married almost a year now, but for the most part had been able to keep that fact from the general public. Even Mary's own colleagues did not yet suspect that the "John Watson" she had married was the same person as the famous blogger detective. "Where are they now?" she asked.

"I sent them out. I hope that's all right," Janet said hesitantly.

"Quite right," Mary nodded emphatically. "Although I expect they've remained just outside the door."

Janet smiled ruefully. "I'm afraid so. Doctor, is it true what they said? Your husband is Sherlock Holmes' assistant?"

"They are a team," Mary replied, a bit impatiently. Yes, Sherlock was the genius, but where would he be without John? In a grave, that's where! Or serving a prison sentence for obstruction of justice or some other charge of that sort, after annoying the police beyond all reason. She rose from her desk and went to the window, which overlooked the alley at the back of the building. "I see they have the back entrance staked out as well." She took a deep breath and made a decision. "Right. Janet, if anyone asks, you can tell them that I've gone for the day."

Janet was appalled. "You're asking me to lie?" she gasped. Dr Watson never told lies, although she was not above deceit.

"It won't be a lie if you give me two minutes head start," Mary assured her, putting on a jacket and gathering her belongings. "I'm going up to the roof. I'll see you tomorrow."

"But, Doctor," Janet objected. "The roof?"

Mary smiled cheerfully. "Don't worry. It'll be fine." She peered out of her door, saw that no one was looking her way, and slipped out to the stairs.

The Press have me surrounded. MW

Really? I miss all the excitement, don't I? Wish I could rescue you. JW

I suppose Mycroft could send a helicopter. I'm on the roof of the clinic. MW

Ah. Alternate route B? JW

What else? I'll let you know when I get to Baker Street. MW

She crossed rooftops and ducked down back alleys, following a map on her phone, heading for Baker Street rather than her own flat. John was still out of town, and she had promised him that she would not stay alone at their flat while he was gone. He had not ceased to be haunted by her kidnapping five months earlier, and she was perfectly happy to do anything to stop him from worrying. At last, she arrived at the back of 221B Baker Street. If Mrs. Hudson wasn't home, she was sunk! Rapping at the window of Mrs. Hudson's kitchen, she looked around, hoping no one had managed to follow her.

"My dear!" Mrs. Hudson cried as she raised the window. "What on earth?"

"Sorry to bother you, Mrs. Hudson," Mary said as she climbed in through the window. "There were some reporters at my clinic today. I think I lost them, but I feel certain the house is being watched."

"Oh, it's no bother, dear," she was assured. "But, Mary, you know no reporters can come to this house. Mycroft has seen to it. He'd have them arrested. The restraining order, you know."

"Oh, I know, but even Mycroft can't stop people from watching the front door. I promised John I would stay here with Sherlock until he returns from the Medical Conference, but I really don't relish the scandal if reporters notice me arriving and not leaving until tomorrow. You know how people talk."

"They do little else," Mrs. Hudson nodded wisely. "Go on upstairs, dear. If anyone turns up at the door as shouldn't, I'll deal with them."

Mary smiled. "Woe be to them!" she chuckled, and headed up the stairs, texting John as she went.

Sherlock was engrossed in his laptop as she stood in the door of the flat. "Pursued by paparazzi, I perceive," he stated without looking up.

"I don't even want to know how you worked that out before I ever made it inside the room," Mary told him. "Nice alliteration, though. I congratulate you."

"I didn't hear the front door—you apparently entered through Mrs. Hudson's kitchen window. Why else would you do such a thing unless you were attempting to enter the flat unseen? And who else's attention would you be trying to avoid?" Sherlock intoned, his eyes still glued to the screen of his laptop.

"Do shut up, Sweetheart. I said I didn't want to know," Mary said affectionately, dropping onto the sofa in utter exhaustion. "I used one of the alternate routes you mapped out for me after I was kidnapped that time. It worked out quite well, but I'm not used to so much climbing. Make me some tea, would you? I can't move another step."

"I don't make tea for people," Sherlock protested mildly, finally looking up at her.

"Yes, you do," she returned smartly. "And since you care about my well-being, you'll do this for me, won't you? See, my tongue is absolutely hanging out. I'm dying of thirst."

Sherlock sighed deeply, but rose from his chair and moved towards the kitchen. "I warned you this would happen sooner or later," he told her. "The press was bound to find out about you, especially after this case in Cornwall."

"I know, we did talk about it before I agreed to go with you. And I guess I was prepared to deal with it at the time. But after you had that little talk with the inspector there, I thought everyone had agreed to keep my involvement under wraps."

"It wasn't the inspector who gave you away. It was that young PC who was so enamoured of you. Look at the paper there on the floor."

Mary picked up the newspaper. The headlines blared: "Mysterious Mrs. Watson! Is Famous Duo Now a Trio?" She skimmed quickly through the article, mostly an interview of PC Alec Gates, who gushed excessively over her looks. She growled in annoyance. "That little bugger. And he claims to be so fond of me. Did you read this, Sherlock? 'Detective Sherlock Holmes apparently now has two Doctor Watsons at his beck and call.' Beck and call? What are we now, your pet golden retrievers? Beck and call, indeed," she fumed.

Sherlock snorted. "If only they knew the truth of who actually bosses whom in this partnership," he observed sarcastically as he handed her a steaming cup. "Your tea, just as you like it, madam. Will there be anything else? Biscuits, perhaps? Broiled lobster? Sirloin steak?"

Mary's ill mood dissolved in giggles. "If only your public knew the Sherlock I know," she chuckled. "You're such a clown sometimes!"

"They will never know," Sherlock told her sternly, and sat in his chair again, picking up his laptop.

Mary continued mirthfully, "Molly called me this morning. According to Anderson and Donovan, the murder case in Cornwall was actually a cover-up for a torrid love affair."

Sherlock appeared bewildered. "Love affair? Whose love affair? The victim's? Or the perpetrator's?"

Mary could not stop laughing now. "Ours!" she informed him. "Apparently we've just been on a romantic get-away on the Lizard Peninsula. Poor John. What a stooge he must be, not to see what's going on beneath his very nose," she gasped, barely able to breathe. "And what horrible people we are, to treat him so shamefully. And you call yourself his best friend!"

Sherlock was mystified. "Mary, what in heaven's name are you talking about? Wait, wait. . . ." He steepled his hands, deep in thought. "Hmm, that explains their behaviour at the crime scene today. Lestrade threatened to make Anderson redundant for some seemingly innocuous statement, which I believe was meant to be an innuendo."

"How sweet of Greg," Mary smiled. "He's such a dear. Well, don't worry. Molly and I have worked out a scheme to teach Scotland Yard a lesson for such rumour-mongering. We'll implement it as soon as John gets back. But can we put off the press until John returns, as well? He won't be back for two more days."

"Oh, no, no! That would be a mistake. Look at the headline, Mary. 'Mysterious', they call you. You can't be elusive or cagey now. It would only add to the mystery of your persona and make them all the more keen to uncover your story."

"You're right," Mary nodded thoughtfully. "There would be nothing but endless speculation as to what I may be hiding. I suppose the wisest thing to do would be to call a press conference, and then be as dull and ordinary as possible. Do you think I can pull it off?"

Sherlock snorted derisively. "It would be amusing to watch you trying being ordinary," he said.