"If I were to ask a favor of you, John, would you comply?"
I looked at the dark-haired, gray-eyed beauty before me, wondering how I could possibly say no. I took her hand, letting her deduce my thoughts.
"Marry me." She demanded.
I was completely taken aback. "Wh-what?"
Miss Sherlock huffed impatiently. "I'm quite certain you heard me, doctor. I want you to marry me. I would prefer to publicly keep my own name of course, so I can be found easier by my clients, but to have a legitimate practice-such as it is-I need a man to front it."
"You wish to use me!" I was angry, and rightfully so, wrenching my hands from hers and turning away.
"Oh no, my dear John." Her soft words in the gentle voice would be my undoing on multiple occasions. "I feel a deep affection for you that is akin to love, and I believe that, given time, I can love you. I do not trust others easily, particularly men."
I turned to her and cupped my hand, cradling her pale cheek. Miss Sherlock leaned into my hand. I began to think, as I looked into the misty gray eyes, that she had been hurt once by a man, and had no reason to trust them. "Yes," I replied, smiling. "Of course I will."
Miss Sherlock jumped, and her eyes became serious, searching. "I will not be conventional by any means," She informed me. "I will not be a housewife. I will not be as a bitch kept for breeding. I will satisfy you, as is a wife's duty. I will cook, if you wish. I will obey, if it will not endanger myself or my work. But I will not be taken advantage of. There will be quarrels, I can promise you. People will talk."
"People don't matter," I informed her, touching her cheek with my lips. "All that matters to me is you."
Miss Sherlock gently guided my face until my lips were over hers. And we kissed.
"Then, outside my consulting practice, I am Mrs. Watson." She said.