Disclaimer: I don't own "Sherlock Holmes" or any of its characters. That all belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Guy Ritchie, etc.

Inspired by: "A Moment Like This" by Kelly Clarkson.


June 22nd, 1894

Thankfully, it was soon after the "Father Incident" that the workers reported Cavendish Place fit for living again. Bidding his friends a fond farewell, the doctor grinned to himself when Madeline shook Victoria's hand firmly and pronouncing her companionship welcome in the house at any time. Sherlock mutely nodded, inclining an eyebrow at his compatriot but not deigning to ask any questions. John was more than grateful for that; he wanted no queries to be made of the sudden friendship between the women, especially since he valued Mrs. Holmes' approval of the girl in his employ. The extent of that approval's meaning residing solely in his mind at the moment. And so, the Watson men and the nanny resumed life in Cavendish Place, marking the end of the Week of Trials.

And that was not the only era coming to a hasty conclusion.

With Watson's year of mourning officially over, there had been an upsurge of eligible young ladies flocking to the doors of his office. One well-placed word from a father after his back treatment or an elderly aunt after receiving medication for her joint pain, and the next day one woman or another would appear at the door. They were all young, pretty, and eager to make the acquaintance of the doctor, especially one associated with the greatest detective on earth.

Frankly, though, the doctor himself did not care for courtship. Rather, he did not care for their courtship.

This plan was to be executed slowly, the intricacies to be delicately handled. The doctor was, after all, a military man, and he found he responded well to and generated positive results from a well-laid attack plan.

It was nothing much, at first. A passing glance here, a few token words there. He did not want to make his intended feel entrapped; rather, he preferred flashing meaningful looks in her direction. And it was not only a mind pursuit, after all. Something deep inside him was touched the first time he'd met her. A part of him that he'd thought died with Mary had been brought to life again, a Frankenstein's creature without the stitching and assembled parts of seven other men. It was just the renewal of himself. John was convinced that this was the right course of action; Mary's provided blessing at the cemetery last month confirmed it. She would not want him to live alone; she had chosen Victoria Bayard as her heir.

And what a fine, wonderfully spirited woman was that heir indeed, Watson mused privately on many different occasions. For over a month he'd begun to make his advances, working slowly at tearing down the walls erected around her heart and mind.

Victoria was, at heart, an independent woman. Showing her that he not only depended on her for her care of his son would be a hard thing indeed. Nor would it be simple to break down the societal norms surrounding them; more than once he'd caught the furtive glances of patients or Holmes, when he came to ask his professional opinion on a case, whenever he shared a moment of easy conversation with Miss Bayard. He cared too much to subject her to ridicule; indeed, he cared too much about himself in that department. Because of his writings, he was gaining more and more notoriety, and keeping a low profile was something he was adamant about maintaining.

He was first and foremost a gentleman.

"Why you persist in the ancient routine of courtship and marriage is beyond me," Holmes muttered to him on a walk over to a crime scene one day. John sighed; he knew that discretion and secrecy never lasted once Sherlock Holmes had his eye on something suspicious. "You, who had decided within days of meeting her to propose to your first fiancée! That's hardly gentlemanly; that's downright scandalous."

"Aye, I'll consider your sage advice, Holmes. You are, after all, an expert when it comes to the female persuasion," Watson retorted, earning a smirk for his efforts.

"I do admit, I had no…greater knowledge to the workings of the female mind for years, but see here, fellow, I am catching on."

"Indeed, twenty years after the fact, and only after one of them tied you down in marriage herself."

Sherlock bit down an instant denial. Rather, he focused on the crowds they were passing through, furtively taking note of suspicious characters.

"I do believe we were discussing your current predicament, my good man. All I am merely suggesting is perhaps a more direct approach would suffice in swaying her heart," he remarked, looking as though he were tasting something horribly sour. "Dear me, this conversation is entirely too menial."

"And yet you choose to participate in it, Holmes. Distracting yourself from matters at home, are you?"

The detective snorted. "Were I to take a direct approach myself regarding Mrs. Holmes' cravings at this point in the venture, I risk losing my…faculties."

He made a discreet gesture, causing Watson laugh uncontrollably.

"I see," the doctor sputtered, thumping his cane on the ground in good nature. Briskly, Sherlock snatched his arm.

"I am entirely serious, my dear Boswell. She threatened to take drastic action if I did not find her garlic and cinnamon at half-two this morning," he confessed, dodging a little old lady with a trundling cart. "Try being the one sneaking those items out of 'Nanny' Hudson's cupboards. I swear this baby is going to the death of us both."

Sobering up at the sight of his friend's agape face, the doctor reassured him everything would be alright in the end. They arrived at the scene, the conversation abandoned, but a seed had been planted in Watson's mind. A direct approach? Perhaps a woman of the world such as Victoria would not mind so much if that course was taken.

When he knocked off work at seven o'clock the evening of June 22nd, John locked up his office, his hands shaking slightly as he rolled the idea through his head again.

"Perhaps," he murmured out loud. It wasn't a terrible idea; after all, actions did indeed speak louder than words sometimes. And words and looks were all he'd exchanged with the pretty nanny. She'd lived through more danger and more excitement than any average woman he'd known. The whole walk home he contemplated his next move, the next attack formation.

What he didn't expect was a surprise assault at his own front door. What he wasn't prepared for was Victoria's battle plan. He could see her, waiting on the front steps, wringing her hands in an almost nervous fashion. Her neat black hair was slipping from beneath the pristine cap constantly perched on her head. As he got closer, he noted that her sweet black eyes were latched onto him, reflecting an unnamed emotion that was causing the rest of her body to tremble.

Making his way swiftly to her, he asked, "Miss Bayard, has something happened to William?"

She shook her head. "No, sir. Willy is fine. Superb, actually."

John frowned. "Did someone try to attack you again?"

Once more her head shook no, her gaze unable to meet his.

"Whatever is the matter?"

"The matter?" her voice flared up suddenly. "You know perfectly well what the matter is. What I want to know is, what on earth do you intend to do about it?"

Damn, he was caught. Perhaps denial was a better match for him. "I have no-"

"D'you think I'm blind, John?" she hissed in a whisper. "Or stupid? Because as you have indicated to me in the past, you have a basic knowledge of my intelligence. I do have eyes, y'know."

She stepped back, trying to keep herself out of his reach. She only succeeded in flattening herself against the door. Her face was flushing, a startling red accenting her cheeks.

"I have…so many conflicting ideas and feelings in my head and body, and they were put there by you," Victoria murmured. "I know not what to do with myself anymore. When I speak with you, I feel like you actually hear me. When I see you, my heart drops and lifts at the same time. I can't sleep without seeing you in my dreams. I wait for the moment you come home from work, if just to see you once that day. And you…you have been so sweet, and courteous, and…what do you want from me?"

Her finger was pointed in John's face, which looked utterly surprised, and not just a little bit pleased. If there had ever been an appropriate time for Heaven to open up and cast its light upon Watson, this was it. Victoria continued speaking over his inner delight.

"I will be no dalliance in a gentleman's home. I may have had an occupation where the women were reputed to be whores, but I will not be one. What do you want from me, John Watson? For if that is what you intend, sir, then my conception of you has been sorely incorrect and I will leave immediately."

With two quick strides, he put himself merely inches away from her, his bearing proud and his stance as straight as it could be with his injured leg.

"What I want, Victoria, is you. Just you, with all the respect that you yourself accord," he replied, his voice growing husky. "I have not loved anyone since my wife passed…but you…"

He paused, his head inclining on its accord. Her eyelids fluttered, and another blush crawled up her neck.

"Not as a dalliance?" she asked him, her gaze riveted to his lips.

"Never," he responded. "I just want you to grant me a place in your affections."

Victoria smirked, finding herself leaning towards the doctor. "You know you're using sweet phrases once bandied by King Henry the Eighth to Anne Boleyn?"

Watson chuckled. "I have no intention of cutting off your head. Does that mean you will not attend to the words because someone else used them first?"

Any closer and she would be kissing John. "Not at all."

That was all the invitation he needed; in a moment his mouth was on hers, drawing her up and into a gentle kiss. As he began to draw away, her hand snaked behind his head and pulled him back for more. They were falling, deeper, deeper…

"Well, well, well, what a fine scene is this."

Both the nanny and the doctor were jarred by the new voice entering their hearing. Immediately they sprang apart, black and blue eyes jumping everywhere. Turning swiftly on his heel, he was at once irritated and shocked to find Madeline Holmes standing at the base of the front stairs. She was dressed nicely, as if she were to be receiving visitors. One hand rested comfortably on her ever-growing belly, the other pressed into her back. But upon her sweet freckled face was the largest, smuggest smile John had ever seen this side of Baker Street.

"Here I came for a treatment for back pain, and instead I find this," she murmured happily, cocking her head to the side. "Good evening, doctor, Miss Bayard."

"Evening," they chimed together. After fumbling in speech for a minute, Victoria expressed her need to check on William. John bade her go, and closed the door behind her as she darted inside the house.

"It's not what you think," he began lamely, desperate to quell the grow satisfaction in Madeline's eyes. "It was just…we were just…"

"Snogging on the front porch, Watson. Don't pretend as though it's never happened in your life before," the lady said, folding her hands together. "And certainly don't think you were the only pair ever to do so."

His forehead creased in apprehension. "My intentions towards her are strictly honorable."

"Indeed, I wouldn't expect any less from you, John. I must say, though, it has taken you long enough to get the nerve, don't you think so?"

He huffed indignantly. "Did everyone know what I intended, honestly?"

She shrugged. "If I were to hazard a guess, I would say that the only people who didn't realize you both were taking so long to get to this point were the two of you."

"This coming from the wife of the man who'd remained single for over twenty years, and then it took him another two to realize he even cared for you in the first place?" John snapped. He really was not in the mood for her speculation. And Madeline was hardly even fazed by his sharp words. She was well aware of the situation her mouth had put her in, and as a true fencer she conceded the point.

"Well played, sir. Shall I call sometime tomorrow, then? This back pain, it comes and goes, and it's starting to go now," she told him, backing away from the stairs slowly. John heaved a giant sigh; at least it wasn't Holmes who'd caught them… "You do realize I intend to tell Sherlock everything, yes?"

"WHAT? No!" The doctor frantically shook his head in denial, but his sight was only greeted by that of Madeline climbing into a then-unnoticed hansom cab, blowing him a kiss and bidding the drive to beat a hasty retreat.

"This will be public knowledge within three days, won't it?" Victoria said, reappearing at John's side and watching the cab disappear down the street. Curling an arm around her waist, Watson simply rested his head against hers and groaned.

"I would say, more like three hours."


Author's note: HOLY FINALS WEEK, BATMAN! If you were wondering whether I was dead or not, I'm not. Finals have just completely owned my life the past couple of weeks. But now I'm on break, and can get back to fanfiction. Which means, I can get back to updating! I'm taking a J-term class, but it's one class, so I can keep plugging away on here.

Yep, that just happened. Anyway, hope you enjoy the new chapter, see ya next time, PLEASE REVIEW!