No angst, just a slight bit of randomness, a "what if" plot bunny that latched onto me last night when I was re-reading parts of the Canon.

I had only just seen my latest client, who was embarrassingly grateful for my so very trite services in such a simple matter, to the door of the sitting room, when Mrs. Hudson stepped up to inform me I had yet another client, a lady waiting below for my convenience.

Though I would rather have been perusing the papers for more information regarding this interesting murder case in Herefordshire, I agreed to see the lady. To my surprise, the woman was none other than Miss – I yet stumble over the title – Mrs. Mary Watson.

For an instant the horrible thought that she bore bad news about my dear friend tore its way through my mind, but of course reason subsequently reasserted itself at the sight of her calm, even cheerful countenance. What then?

I do not believe it to be entirely shameful if I admit to feeling a slight nervousness, for the lady is the most remarkably intelligent woman I have ever met (with perhaps one very exceptional exception), and while charming and feminine to the last degree (at least according to her husband's glorious praise-singing) she had rather more backbone than most ladies of my acquaintance, and could quite hold her own under fire (at least verbally and, though I had not occasion to test the theory, I suspected literally if necessary; certainly she possessed the necessary nerve to do so). Such a novel quality in a woman these days was more than a little disconcerting to such a creature of habit as I.

Another reason why I understood, if not was beginning to approve of, her worthiness to care for my chronicler.

I can be as gallant as the next man when I so choose, and so I swept a tsunami of papers from the most comfortable chair and indicated it to her. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, Mrs. Watson?"

She smiled at my manner, though not in a mocking way. "I am well aware of your deprecation regarding social calls, Mr. Holmes," said she, and I felt my ears start to burn, "and so I shall come straight to the point. I need your help."

I blinked and sat down across from her, slightly puzzled. "You have but to name it, but in what way, Mrs. Watson?"

She sighed, her composure betraying for the first time some unease as she hesitantly tucked a curling lock of hair behind her ear, and answered my question with one of her own (another annoyingly direct habit the woman utilizes most smartly). "Is there something the matter between you and my husband, Mr. Holmes?"

I frowned, frantically casting my mind back in an effort to recollect if I had sent any presumptuous messages or said something unthinking in recent days…or weeks. "Not that I know of," I finally replied nervously, reaching for my pipe and having the match lit before I remembered to ask permission.

Thankfully, the good lady merely smiled graciously and waved for me to continue. "I am pleased to hear that," said she as I tossed the burnt-out match into the grate. "But he has been acting rather strangely lately; you know he has not seen you in over a month."

"I…have been rather busy," I gulped, puffing heavily on the clay. Was I just my imagination, or was the room growing rather more warm than was usual for a June morning?

One golden eyebrow arched in my direction, carrying with it more power than I was aware a woman was capable of wielding. "Mr. Holmes, a relationship – any relationship – is like a flowering plant," she said quietly. "And though some are hardier than others, all plants must have at least a little sunlight and watering if they are to remain alive and more importantly, to bloom."

I firmly resisted the urge to squirm, for that would have been obvious defeat. Not to mention I did not appreciate being compared to a cactus. "I don't quite follow you," I alleged coolly, though I of course did, quite accurately so.

Apparently the woman was reasonably aware that I understood full well, for she gave a most ladylike eyeroll and shook her head. "Just exactly what must I do to get you to believe that we truly want your company, Mr. Holmes?" she demanded. "In how many different ways must I reiterate to you that I have absolutely no objections to your relationship with my husband, that I even welcome it for he is always so happy when he returns from seeing you, before your intelligence will finally comprehend the truth?"

I choked on a lungful of smoke and threw myself into a coughing fit, which seemed to amuse her greatly. When my eyes had done watering I set the pipe aside, lacing my fingers together in lieu of drumming them visibly on the arms of the chair.

"I…" I ran a hand through my hair, debating whether or not to tell the truth. I probably should, since she was a most perceptive creature and doubtless would be able to tell were I to prevaricate.

"Are you truly so intimidated by my presence?"

"No!" I hastened to exclaim, fidgeting with a loose threat on the chair seat. "Nothing of the sort, Mrs. Watson." As if I would admit it to her if I in fact were.

"What then?" Her tone was most gentle, though that did not exactly help matters.

"It is…it is just that…that I have no desire to do anything that could possibly be construed as trying to come between the two of you," I muttered at last, fumbling slightly before I found the words to plough my way through the remainder of the awkward explanation. "I behaved rather badly at the beginning, I shall admit; and I've no desire to ever do so again. And…I frankly have no idea how to act in your presence, my dear lady. I have never had a sister or anything close to it, and…it is most discomfiting."

Blue eyes widened in startled surprise before they softened and she laughed gently. "I am sorry to hear that," she replied, and I was glad to see she was not laughing at me, but rather at the idea that she could be daunting to someone. "But you know you needn't stay away from John simply because I am around. I am not one of these silly women who must constantly have people about to prevent me from thinking for myself, sir; nor am I stupid enough to make a nuisance of myself were you to stop by and see him at times. I am not so selfish as to begrudge such a wonderful thing as your friendship, Mr. Holmes."

I blinked, for though she had said as much before it had never been quite so direct, and I appreciated the frankness. "If I might echo your own last statement, Mrs. Watson, I should hope that neither am I so selfish as to begrudge you and Watson such a…perfect relationship as you evidently have," I added with a trifle of temerity.

"I believe we should communicate more," the lady declared with a smile, "for we evidently are both trying a bit too hard in this matter."

"A compromise, then?" I asked archly, more than willing to return to the familiar ground of a battle of wits, rather than one of unfamiliar emotions.

"That is indeed part of the reason I am here," she returned, smiling warmly at me.

"Only part?"

"Yes." Her smile disappeared into a look of loving worry, and I felt my brows draw together at the sight of it. "You are probably aware that my husband has a propensity to run himself into the ground at times in his work?"

"Yes, indeed. The only self-harmful vice he possesses, I believe." I felt myself smiling fondly without meaning to, and his wife nodded heartily.

"He has been working too hard lately," she said quietly, dropping her eyes to the floor and fidgeting with the plush upon her sleeve. "Far too hard. He insists he must build up the practice, and I cannot get him to understand that I should rather have him healthy and happy than to have the finest hat any milliner could produce."

"You are worried for his health, then," I stated the obvious softly, and she inclined her head in agreement.

"He has been too tired by the time he is through in the evenings to even read the newspaper…" (1) She trailed off and looked up at me, unashamed anxiety playing across her gentle features. "He has not taken a walk outside in over a week, and you know how insistent he is about the benefits of fresh air."

"Quite," I responded dryly, well remembering his nagging. He must indeed be working himself into the ground. Somehow I had the feeling that his wife was not here for the sole purpose of merely unburdening herself of the worry she held over his well-being, however. "And you believe I can help in some way?" I asked warily.

"I was merely wondering if you could at least stop by and see him," she replied softly. "I know how much he misses you, and he has been talking rather wistfully about you the last few days, wondering where you were and what you were doing. Mr. Holmes, I would rather he not follow your adventures solely through the papers."

I squirmed into a more comfortable position in my chair, for a spring was digging into me. "I have no case at present," I said dully.

"Then when you do get one, and especially if it were to take place in the country, would you please ask him to accompany you?" Ah, a direct question at last. I knew I liked this woman for a reason other than her common sense, and the fact that I had to or Watson would murder me. "He needs the fresh air, truly, Mr. Holmes."

"If you are quite certain you do not mind…" I began slowly.

I received a most unladylike snort. "Now I know where John has so practised that stubborn streak of his; he was forced to, living with you, Mr. Holmes. How much clearer can I be to you on the matter?"

I chuckled, relief filling me in a calming wave, and felt much more at ease now with this remarkable woman. "The next country case that comes along, then," I promised with a genuine smile. I hastened to scramble out of my chair as the lady rose with a fervent word of thanks.

"You know," she added over her shoulder as I showed her to the door. "You really should just stop by for dinner sometime. He would love to see you on a time when you are not both caught in the midst of gunfire or such."

"Do not press your luck, Mrs. Watson," I retorted good-naturedly, and we both laughed.

As she exited the flat with a final pert nod to me and entered the cab she had told to wait, one of my street urchins came bolting up with a telegram from Inspector Lestrade, informing me that he was leaving London for the west of England to investigate this intriguing Boscombe Valley mystery, and so would be unavailable at the Yard for several days.

If he conducted the investigation in his usual manner, I had little doubt that I might myself be going to Herefordshire in the next day or so.

I certainly hoped Mrs. Watson had the sense to see that her husband's country tweeds were cleaned and pressed.

We were seated at breakfast one morning, my wife and I, when the maid brought in a telegram. It was from Sherlock Holmes and ran in this way:

Have you a couple of days to spare? Have just been wired for from the west of England in connection with Boscombe Valley tragedy. Shall be glad if you will come with me. Air and scenery perfect. Leave Paddington by the 11:15.

"What do you say, dear?" said my wife, looking across at me. "Will you go?"

"I really don't know what to say. I have a fairly long list at present."

"Oh, Anstruther would do your work for you. You have been looking a little pale lately. I think that the change would do you good, and you are always so interested in Mr. Sherlock Holmes's cases."

"I should be ungrateful if I were not, seeing what I gained through one of them," I answered. "But if I am to go, I must pack at once, for I have only half an hour." --BOSC, the opening paragraphs

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(1) "Have you heard anything of the case?" he asked.

"Not a word. I have not seen a paper for some days." -- BOSC, on the train