Chapter Twenty: A Heart to Heart With Watson

"Are you in any pain?" Watson asked his voice soft and gentle.

I shook my head.

He moved closer and looked at my throat. "You should be able to speak now," he said smiling gently. "The stitches have set and you are in no danger of tarring them."

"Thanks Doc," I said softly. Suddenly my throat felt dry and I could not force any words out. I swallowed several times.

"Any pain when you speak?"

I shook my head. "None physically."

He cocked his eyebrows and stared at me quizzically. "What ever do you mean my dear girl?"

"Doc, can I talk to you for a second?"

"Certainly," he said, perching himself on the bed next to me. "What is troubling you?"

I sat up and stared into his green eyes as though the answer to my dilemma was to be found somewhere inside them. "You've got a wife right?"

He seemed startled by my question and raised his reddish eyebrows. "Yes."

"You love her right?"

He nodded and looked at me keenly. "Of course, although I don't understand what concern it is of yours--"

"I didn't mean to offend you Doc," I said suddenly remembering that love was not discussed openly in the Victorian Era. "How do you know you love her?"

"I don't understand--"

"Please," I said taking his hand in mine. "Please bear with me. I need to talk to you about something, but I don't know how to phrase it. Please, I need your help. Just answer the questions."

Watson seemed to contemplate my question for several moments. I was about to repeat myself when he spoke. "I just know I love her, it's just a feeling. When I see her my pulse races and I have the urge to hold her and never let her go. It's a feeling…I can't really describe it, I doubt the best authors could."

"You just know?"

He nodded.

"You mean you knew from the first moment?" Of course he did you idiot! You read 'The Sign of Four' remember? "You were never uncertain?" No Bozo, not too many people are like you, totally confused because they might love a guy who wants nothing to do with them.

Watson raised his eyebrows once again and I wondered if he would answer the question. I nearly sighed with relief when he spoke. "Of course I was uncertain at first, I think everyone is. But I remember," as he spoke his eyes took on a far-away look, "when our hands searched for each other in the dark, when she went to me for comfort from her fear, it was that moment when I realized we were destined to be together. Certainly I was nervous; if Holmes found the Agra Treasure, she would be the richest woman in the world and would most certainly want nothing to do with a crippled, part-time doctor. Although I've never told Holmes, I spent as many sleepless nights as he, during that investigation, wondering whether or not I could live my life without Mary." Abruptly he stopped and his eyes resumed their usual sparkle. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Yeah just lemme ask you one more." I took a deep breath and posed my question so quickly that my words sounded jumbled to my own ears and my tongue tripped over itself many times to get the vocabulary I wanted to say out. "So it's all right to be uncertain and it's all right to maybe be in love even if the person might not want your emotions or might want nothing to do with you? I mean what if the person you might love doesn't believe in expressing emotions? I mean what do you do then?"

Watson chuckled good-humoredly. "I daresay if that is how Americans phrase one question in the twenty-first century, I am glad to be living in this time."

I felt my ears burn red.

"In answer to your question," Watson said, his tone becoming that of a doctor ready to give a lecture to a patient, "love is a very strange and powerful emotion. Sometimes you cannot predict whom you will fall in love with and when you do fall in love, it is possible for that person not to reciprocate your feelings."

I smiled at the simplicity of his answer and nearly laughed at the common sense of it. "Why the hell couldn't I think of that?"

"Excuse me?"

I blushed fiercely when I realized that I spoke those words aloud. "Nothing," I murmured. Suddenly I remembered his request. "You wanted to ask me something?"

Watson smiled, the kind of smile a father gives you when you have said something out of ignorance, without proof or fact, an all-knowing smile if you will. "Why did you ask me all those questions about love? Are you feeling that emotion for someone?"

My face caught fire and I averted my eyes from his. "I really don't know," I admitted. "I think I am but…oh Goddamn it! I don't know what I'm feeling. I mean hell he's so confounding! One minute he's so sweet and charming and caring and I find that I can stare into those grey eyes for the rest of eternity and everything would be awesome! And then he's so nasty and cynical that I want to do nothing save throttle him. I mean he's…" I suddenly stopped when I realized how much information I gave Watson. Unless he was really stupid, which unfortunately he wasn't, he would undoubtedly know I have the hots for his best friend.

When I felt his arm go around my shoulders I looked into his face. His eyes sparkled with an understanding that I could not comprehend and when I saw that expression in his face, an expression of utter kindness, I had to fight the strongest urge to cry.

"Am I correct in assuming that these strange emotions have something to do with my friend?" He asked gently.

I nodded, feeling shamefaced. "Yeah," I muttered.

"I suspected these feelings for some time you know," he said at length.

"What?" Every one of my nerves was taut with fear. If Watson suspected then what if Holmes…

"Do not worry yourself," Watson said hugging me in a fatherly fashion. "I doubt if he even suspects."

"Really?"

"Yes," he replied. "For all the things my friend prides himself on, he is extremely dense when it comes to recognizing the emotions of the heart, so to speak."

"What set you wise?"

Watson raised his eyebrows in curiosity.

"What made you suspicious of my feelings toward your friend?" I asked, dropping my voice so I could not be heard outside the door.

"Do you remember our last conversation?"

I thought back for a few minutes and recalled it. I nodded.

"Do you remember what I said?"

"You said a lot of things Doc. Do you mind being more specific?"

He smiled kindly. "I believe I referred to the way you looked at him. Your eyes are always filled with uncertainty and longing and have been every time you see him. I would have to be extremely dense not to realize that you have feelings for him."

I blushed. "I guess I'm not that good at putting on a nonchalant façade, huh?"

He shook his head good humouredly. "I've seen better acting in music halls."

I laughed in a self-deprecating way. "Doc?"

"Yes?"

"Please don't tell Holmes anything we said. I think I would die of humiliation if he ever found out!"

"Your secret is safe with me," he replied.

"Is it all right to…I mean can I…what I meant to say was…"

He put a finger to my lips, silencing me. "You've nothing to worry about. It is perfectly natural to develop feelings for someone, even for someone like Holmes."

I smiled. "Thanks Doc, for everything. I feel so much better having talked to you."

He grinned and messed my hair affectionately. "It's cool."

I laughed at his use of American twenty first century slang. After my confusion and all that had happened to me in the last two months, laughter felt so good and so welcomed, that I continued to laugh even after the comicalness of his statement wore off. I laughed at how stupid love could make you feel, I laughed at life in general and fate for having thrown me into the nineteenth century and having me possibly fall in love with the world's first and most stolid consulting detective.

"Mackenzie, are you all right?"

"Yeah Doc, I'm fine thanks." I replied, wiping tears of mirth from my eyes.

"What did you find so amusing?"

"Life and fate."

"I don't seem to follow."

"Everyone, at least where I'm from, is taught to believe that they are in control of their own destiny, and that nothing can happen to them that they don't want to happen. We all think that we control our fate and the direction of our lives, but in reality it is the other way around. Humans are all slaves of fate, doing her bidding, blindly going where she leads us, never having the chance to question her motives. I was one of those people who were taught, at a very young age, that there is a very dark, solid line between fact and fiction one that could never and should never be crossed; that I was indeed in control of my destiny. And now here I am, sitting on a bed in a hotel room in Paris, France in the year eighteen ninety one speaking with someone who I was raised to believe was a fictional character and discussing my potential feelings for his friend, whom I was also taught to believe was fiction. Fate, she threw me back in time for God only knows what reason and I didn't have the chance to protest or question her motives. It's crazy Doc, it's absolute bedlam."

"Although slightly morbid, it's not bad," Watson said looking at me. "You know, I never did believe that something like this could ever happen. I never, for one moment, believed in time paradoxes."

"Neither did I and yet here we are, people of two different times, two different worlds, sitting and talking like it was the most natural thing on God's great earth. It's crazy and what makes it so damned frustrating is the fact that I'll never know why I, of all people, was chosen to be sent here. Why I of all people was forced to fall for Sherlock Holmes."

Watson smiled at me and pushed a stray bit of hair behind my ear. "It's fate, and like you said before, we cannot question her motives."

I nodded and looked into his honest face and I felt tears brimming in my eyes. "Doc, it's just that I'm scared, terrified even. I'm scared of this inner turmoil I'm feeling, this strange mix up of emotions. I thought I knew what love was, I thought I knew the guy that was perfect for me, and now all those certainties are gone. I'm confused Doc, I'm so damned confused," I felt a tear run down my cheek and wiped my eyes angrily. "To make matters worse, I miss my home and I'm scared that I'll never get back. There were times when I absolutely couldn't stand my family, but now I find myself longing to see them. It seems the more time I spend in this era, the more I miss them. I miss their eccentricities; I miss dad's corny jokes, mom's over-protectiveness. Goddamn it! I even miss school and my teachers and classmates! I feel so alone here, so isolated…so scared."

Watson embraced me in a fatherly fashion and I leaned against his chest and listened to his great heart beat. When more waves of isolation hit me, I buried my face in the fabric of his shirt seeking comfort. "It's all right Mackenzie," he said soothingly. "You're not alone here, I'm here for you and so is your friend Becky, and, even though he refuses to show it, so is Holmes. You'll find a way home, a way back to your family, eventually. You'll even be able to sort out that inner turmoil of feelings. It will just take time and courage. And remember Mackenzie; if you ever need me just say the word and I will be there."

I hugged Doctor Watson tighter. "Thank you so much Doc."

"You're very welcome."

I stayed there, wrapped in his protective arms for several minutes. When I finally pushed away from him, I felt such a sense of calm, a sense of peace that I haven't felt in ages. My face must've showed how I was feeling because Watson chuckle and wiped a stray tear from my cheek.

"Are you all right?"

I nodded. "Yeah, thanks Doc, for everything. I think that finally, I can face this, I can face what's going on."

He smiled at me once more and rose to go. He removed his pocket watch and read the time. "I daresay, it is nearly six o'clock. We'd best get ourselves ready for dinner."

"Good idea Doc," I said smiling earnestly. It was at that moment that I knew everything was going to be all right.

Watson left the room and I was denied any time for contemplation because Becky entered, her arms filled brown parcels.

"What the hell do you have there?"

"Stuff," she said with an impish grin.

"Stuff and nonsense," I replied. "Unfortunately, the Victorian boys are in a hurry to get to dinner. I suggest we put on more suitable attire and not keep them waiting any longer then we have to."

Becky nodded in agreement and asked about my wound before entering the bathroom.

"Much better, thanks dude," I said to the closed door.

I rummaged through the dresses that Dr. Watson had bought me and I selected one of the nicer ones, a deep blue satin with a high cream collar, (which covered the newly acquired stitches) and lace at the wrists. I impatiently waited for Becky to get done in the bathroom so I could do my hair.

Roughly ten minutes later she came waltzing out, dressed in a plain hunter green dress. "Bathroom's all yours," she said with a smile.

I looked over her attire with a grim expression. "You're wearing that?"

"Yup," she said with a laugh. "We're only going to dinner, not the opera Mac."

I shrugged my shoulders and entered the bathroom. When I saw the mess of my hair I frowned. "Nothing I can do is going to make this look good," I said fingering my short blond locks. When I finally got it to look somewhat normal, I joined Becky and the others in the sitting room.

"You women look very nice," Watson said adjusting his waistcoat. He looked immaculate as usual.

"You look damn good yourself Doc," I said with a smile. "Damn good."

He blushed at my compliment and continued to fuss with his tie.

"For God's sake Watson," Holmes said his ever present cigarette in his hand, "it looks fine. Honestly, sometimes you are more vain then those two," the detective snapped. "If you do not hurry we will miss our reservation."

"Yes of course Holmes," Watson said lowering his eyes from those of his friend.

I hated to see his discomfort, especially since he has been a good friend to me, but I dared not say anything because I didn't know how Holmes would react. Not that I minded him blowing up at me, but I didn't want Watson to suffer any ramifications from Holmes's tongue because of me.

"You're in quite a hurry tonight Holmes. Are we expecting company this evening?"

The detective nodded and handed me a wrap to put around my shoulders. Never having seen it before, I looked at him, thoroughly confused. He shrugged his shoulders by way of reply and grabbed his own topcoat. "Yes we are meeting le Comte de Chagny at Le Villard, an expensive French restaurant a few minutes from here." He glanced at Becky's attire and grimaced. "You have nothing better to wear?"

"I do but I don't feel like putting it on," was my best friend's reply.

Sherlock Holmes shook his head and muttered something about the temperament of women before opening the door and allowing my friend and I to exit the room.