Disclaimer – I am not Conan Doyle… d'uh…

Notes – just a series of short one shots from Holmes's point of view (which I've never tried before) set from Watson's marriage to Mary Mortsan to the events leading up to Reichenbach Falls. Not based on a single case, or any specific case either… oh, just read it!

Observations of a Wife

An Essential Accessory

As I circled the garden party with my tray of drinks, I spotted them both off to the side, chatting lightly with another couple. Watson had no talent for acting any role other than his own, but within that role there was a lot of scope. Right now, for instance, he was perfectly playing the part of an indulgent husband, squiring his wife around a Society Do; a garden party thrown by a charity that his wife volunteered for.

We suspected that it was being used as a front for smuggling certain items into and out of the poorer parts of London. We knew the receivers, the couriers and the clients. We had a fair suspicion whom the ringleaders were, but needed to catch them in the act of receiving a commission to truly clinch the case.

It was not hard for Lestrade to be included in the final gambit, as his wife also worked for the charity in question and had received her invitation to the garden party with, according to Lestrade, great joy. I was easily able to infiltrate the serving staffs that were to attend, but it was Watson I had been unsure of, given that he was no great shakes as a waiter or musician. Fortunately, we were able to find a connection for him to attend the party legitimately in the form of his Wife, and as I circled past with my tray neither of them so much as turned a hair.

I had explained very carefully to Watson's Wife that she was to completely ignore my presence, should she spy me, and that she was to follow her husband's instructions to the letter. I did not want to risk her being hurt in the course of my work, knowing full well that Watson would never forgive me if that happened. He would ensure that she stayed out of the way, for her own sake as much for the sake of the case.

Lestrade never turned a hair either as he deposited a soiled napkin and empty glass upon my tray. A glance showed me that the napkin had a message scribbled on it; it was barely a moment's work to decipher the shorthand that the Inspector habitually used. It seemed that our quarry was to meet our mark in the next ten minutes. A slight nod and a glass of ginger beer later and all were set for the denouement of the case.

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