Sherlock Holmes was roused from his ruminations on his living room couch by a quick knocking on the living room door. There was something out of place about this visitor, he knew immediately by instinct, and a moment later his brain supplied why. This visitor had disregarded knocking on the front door as unimportant and yet paused on the threshold of his living space to knock on the sitting room door. Who did he know who would do so? It wasn't John Watson, his former roommate. Though Watson may have been polite enough to knock, Holmes had heard him walk up the Baker Street steps enough times to pick out his tread within a few steps. He glanced around the room and hastily covered his desk with a cloth. The Baker Street rooms had become noticeably filthier since Watson had moved out, and he deduced his unexpected visitor was a lady as the knocking came again.
He moved to answer the door quicker now; that knock was one of someone who was frightened. Swinging the door open wide, he was pleasantly surprised to find Mary Watson standing before him. Marriage suited her, he decided as he took in her appearance, just like marriage suited her husband. But something was wrong; something had happened. He knew immediately if not by her appearance then certainly by the lack of John Watson by her side.
"My dear Mrs. Watson," he said, cutting straight to the point. "Whatever is the matter? Please, come in, come in."
"Thank you, Mr. Holmes" she said, and entered the rooms. "I beg you'll forgive my intrusion on you, but I could think of no one else more appropriate to come to. My dear John has always impressed upon me that were I ever in trouble you would aid me for his sake if nothing else."
"Yes of course," Holmes said in a way he hoped was soothing, "For either of you, together or separate, I would do any favor. Have no doubts on that matter. But are you in trouble?"
She looked away from him towards the fire and then back. "No, I think I personally am in no more danger. Mr. Holmes, John has been arrested and taken to Scotland Yard."
Holmes knew a look of shock must have crossed his face for a moment, but he brought his features back to neutral. "On what charge?" he asked.
Mary shook her head. "Of that, I'm unsure. Most likely they called it a disturbance of the peace. It all seemed to happen so fast, and I wasn't near so I do now know. But please, let me explain. Mr. Holmes, this evening John and I attended a party. It was a lively affair and everyone appeared to be having a lovely time until, well, a few of the men got quite drunk." She looked back towards the fire. "John was not amused with their behavior and he and Mike Stamford tried to throw them out. While they wrestled with one of the men, another, well… he grabbed me. I had been trying to usher the young ladies into another room and didn't see him come after me."
Holmes felt anger rise in him. He didn't even need any more details; if he was this angry just hearing it he could imagine Watson had been triply so seeing the event. Still, Mary went on in a soft voice. She didn't look at him, just kept looking towards the fire.
"He grabbed my waist," she said, "and spun me around so I was close to him. When I reached to push him away he grabbed my wrists with one hand, keeping the other around my waist."
Looking closely, Holmes could see the red skin of her wrists where the fiend had gripped her. The poor lady was sure to bruise.
She took a shuddering breath. "Then he kissed me," she said. "It was all so quick. You must believe me I should have never allowed it to happen were it in my power."
Holmes tried to keep his anger in check. How could she think she was somehow to blame for that appalling man's behavior?
"My dear lady, have no doubt that no one will question you on that point!"
She sighed. "I know. But I was so scared, I did the only thing I could think of. I called for John and then I brought my foot up and kicked his knee as hard as I could."
Holmes couldn't help the small grin that came on his face. There was the fearlessness that had so endeared her to him as a client and to Watson as a life partner. Mary Watson may be the image of grace, but she was not the kind of person to go down without a fight, just like her husband.
"Of course, John immediately came to me," she said. "He was so angry. I've never seen him so and hope I never have cause to again. He punched the man hard on the side of his head which made him let go of me. He hadn't been expecting it for he was still stumbling from my kick. Then, John grabbed him by his belt and hoisted him into the air as if he weighed nothing. He slammed his body into the wall behind us and yelled something. Then, he threw the man to the side, again as if he weighed nothing. It was at that moment, however, the man he and Stamford had failed to subdue came behind him and brought a heavy brandy decanter down on him. Then, there was much chaos with nearly every man in the place brawling. I know someone ran out and called for a constable, but I'm afraid I can't tell you any details, for Mike Stamford pulled me away from it all and placed me out of harm's reach. Mr. Holmes," she said, and now she finally looked back at him, "the last I saw John was in handcuffs being taken away. It was only from a distance, but I could tell that he wasn't acting right. I'm afraid he's hurt."
Holmes could see she was in distress, so found the strength to tamper his own discomfort and reached out and pulled her into his arms where she let out a quick, soft sob.
"Thank you. Please," she said, pulling away and wiping her eyes. "You must come with me and help me free him," she continued, her voice steadying. "I am sure he will need medical attention, and I do not like the thought of him being with criminals. He was defending me, the others at the party will swear to it, I've already implored them to. Please, won't you help me?"
"Of course I will," Holmes assured her. "There is nothing I wouldn't do for you," he reiterated. "Please, who else was arrested?"
She shook her head. "I… John was the only one arrested who wasn't drunk. There were… four drunk men. Three were arrested. The one who grabbed me somehow got away in the confusion."
Holmes frowned. "He could not have gotten far."
Mary shook her head. "I don't know what became of him and I don't care. I never want to see him again. All I care about is John's safety."
"I understand," Holmes said. "Please, these rooms and everything in them are completely at your disposal. I'll have Mrs. Hudson start tea. She'll stay with you and tend your wrists. Fear not, I'll have your husband back post-haste."
"No, Mr. Holmes. I'm coming with you," Mary insisted.
"Mrs. Watson, you're hurt, and the man who hurt you is at liberty. Please, you'll be safe here."
"My husband has been injured," Mary said, a dangerous tilt to her voice. "He's been arrested. I need to get to him."
"Mrs. Watson…"
"You will not dissuade me," she said. "I've come to you for help. You will help me or I will go alone."
Holmes sighed. "I still must protest."
"I understand, and if John asks I will tell him that you did. Now shall we go?"
The two headed out and Holmes couldn't help his admiration of the woman beside him. He had never been lying when he said he held her in the highest regard. Even now as he saw her gently rubbing her sore wrists she refused to complain or show anything but a brave face. She had been shaken, he saw, from the assault on her person, but was strong and brave. He felt anger rise again in him as he thought of anyone daring to put their hands on her.
When they arrived at Scotland Yard, Holmes found none other than Inspector Gregson waiting for him.
"I had a feeling you'd be here," Gregson told him. "Mrs. Watson," he said, acknowledging here with a slight bow. "Have no fear. We've dropped all charges against your husband and he's with the police surgeon now."
"Why was he arrested?" Holmes demanded.
Gregson huffed. "Those on duty saw a public disturbance caused by fighting and arrested the perpetrators, including Doctor Watson. We'll get our official statements, but as someone has come forward to say Doctor Watson was not the aggressor we have no problem releasing him."
Mary gave a small sigh of relief.
"You did not get all of them," Holmes accused. "Mrs. Watson suffered an attack upon her person and the man who did so is yet at liberty."
Gregson frowned. "Yes, so I've been informed. I have men looking for him."
Mary looked away in embarrassment. "When can I see my husband?"
"I've already sent a constable for him. I'm sorry for any undue stress, ma'am."
A moment later, Watson came out, leaning heavily on a constable. He looked up, squinting through a blackened eye, and visible relief overtook him when he saw his wife was safe and sound and escorted by his most dependable friend.
"Mary, thank God," he breathed. "Are you alright? Unhurt?"
She rushed to his side and took the constables' place supporting him. "John! Yes, I'm well. Come, let's get you home."
Watson looked up to the others. "Holmes. Thank you, old friend. Inspector, may we go?"
"Yes. Did they get your statement?"
"Yes. Thank you, Inspector." The couple started to move but Watson stumbled. In a moment Holmes was on his other side to help support him.
"I suggest," Holmes said softly, "we go back to Baker Street. I do not want to risk you running into an angry, vengeful, drunken man."
Watson groaned as they lifted him into a carriage. He didn't even give a sign that he had heard Holmes' suggestion.
Mary nodded at Holmes who told the driver to go to Baker Street. They settled in, Watson slumping in the corner.
"John," Mary said, then louder, "John! Keep your eyes open. I fear you've taken a very hard knock to your head so you must stay awake."
"Anything for you, my dearest," he said softly. "Mary, I'm so sorry. What right had I to leave your side when you had need of me? Forgive me, my love."
"Hush," she soothed. "Neither you nor I could have predicted the events of the evening. There's no need for forgiveness." She smiled at him. "My poor man, there's never a dull moment with you, is there?"
"The universe conspires against me," he said softly. "Is a quiet evening at home or an uneventful, enjoyable party too much to ask for?"
"For us, apparently so," she replied. "Still, I'm glad." She looked at Sherlock Holmes and smiled at him. "After all, if you didn't love adventure so much you and I should never have met."
Watson hummed. "You know what? I have always loved a good mystery."
"As do I," Holmes said, interjecting himself in the conversation, "but not in this instance. Tell me, my dear Watson, who was it who did this? Who got away?"
Watson squinted at his friend. "Let the police deal with this, Holmes. I'm sure Mary will only want this business over."
"Yes," Mary said. " I hadn't been introduced to him and I don't care to be. I never want to see him again. Let's let it die tonight, the whole wretched business." She looked out into the street. "I don't care to dwell on it. Even if he isn't found, which I am convinced he will be, the good Lord brings all things to right. I fear for no man's immortal soul who does the right which he can do here while he has the chance."
Holmes frowned. It appeared both Watsons were far too forgiving. He appreciated their generous nature when it came to himself of course, for heaven knew he needed his share of their pardon, but any person who dared put hands on Mary Watson deserved to be put to death.
Watson gave Holmes a look, however, and Holmes nodded back at him. This wasn't quite over. They arrived at Baker Street then, and Holmes took Watson up the living room couch while Mary and Mrs. Hudson got some hot water ready. Holmes took the opportunity to cross-question Watson.
"What did you say to him?" he asked.
"That if he ever so much as glanced at my wife again I would gouge his eyes out and burn out his tongue."
Holmes couldn't help flinching slightly, glad his friend's cold ferocity was not aimed towards him. "You will have need to do neither of those things," Holmes said, "if you will tell me who."
Watson sighed. "Be discreet, Holmes," he said. "For Mary's sake. She doesn't deserve for the business to be dragged out."
"Watson, I hope you have more faith in my good judgement than that. Your dear lady will never know. You're right, she doesn't deserve the discomfort."
His friend was silent for a minute. "James Blake, the son of Colonel George Blake, a well-respected commander in the army. I thought James was a perfectly respectable young man. I was going to introduce him to Mary later in the night. Thank God I didn't, she doesn't need to know it was him if she ever meets his mother while volunteering at one of her charities or at a ladies night."
Holmes nodded. "I agree… Ah, here is your good lady and Mrs. Hudson. You're in good hands now, dear fellow."
Holmes silently slipped out of the room as Watson's wounds were seen to by his wife. He had a scoundrel to find.
That night was the first and only time that both Watson and his wife slept in Baker Street. Watson, feeling too ill to care about relocating, slept fitfully on the couch and his wife slept in his old bed, waking every hour or less to see how he fared. Slightly after four, she was watching over him when Holmes returned.
If she noticed there was blood on his knuckles and shirt cuffs, she didn't say anything, only nodded to him that John was alright before he retired into his own bedroom to sleep. He never knew if she was told that her assailant was taken into Scotland Yard in far worse shape than a brawl could afford, but he had a feeling she knew quite well, despite his promise to Watson. She was a quick and astute woman and Holmes had meant it when he said there was nothing he wouldn't do for her. Afterwards, he even started accepting her invitations to visit their home for nothing more than to have a social visit. Whatever the future held, no one would hurt her again. He would guarantee it.