Because I'm evil, and uninspired, and this had to be written. Besides, who wouldn't want Watson? (good lord, that's a lot of w's)
Anyway, this has nothing to do with Holmes's exploding experiments. Please don't kill me *ducks behind chair*
It's hard to be a celebrity. Watson hadn't set out to become one when he first started publishing his little anecdotes, but he was hardly displeased when the first letters of admiration started coming in. Every writer is secretly a little vain, and the praise made a nice contrast to Holmes's stinging comments. If most of the letters seemed to be from young women, and more than a few of them happened to be interested in his marital status, what could be the harm?
Certainly, Holmes started to tease him about his "way with the ladies" - especially after that incident with the girl at the train station (he blushed to remember it). And alright, so once or twice he got a proposal or an envelope sealed with a lipstick kiss. There were always those who took it a little bit too far.
Stares, whispers, and giggles were disconcerting, but not exactly the stuff of nightmare.
The hordes of cheering girls who turned up every year on his birthday were a tad much. But it was nice to be appreciated, at least.
Fortunately, he was married to a very patient woman. Mary never said a word about the stacks of ink-inscribed adoration she picked up off the stoop each morning.
