==Chapter One==

Never Rains But It Pours

Eventually, one idea, properly tended, becomes irresistible and fills the mind.

– Stephen Koch

"We're sure this is the right place?" Sally hefted Kathy in her arms, frowning up at the dark, gaping windows of what looked like a derelict boarding house.

"Apparently?" Beth shrugged, ringing the bell. "I don't know why Adelaide wanted to meet us here, but this is the right address."

Footsteps sounded inside, then Adelaide Pemberton opened the front door, her smile hesitant but sincere. "Good morning, ladies." Sally guessed the young woman's nervousness was to blame for the stiffness of the greeting. "Do come in."

"Ah, thank you." Beth shook her head at herself as the girls walked in. "Adelaide, I'd like you to meet Sally and Kathy Watson. Sally, this is Adelaide Pemberton."

Sally held out her free hand, smiling. "Hello. It's so nice to meet you."

"Thank you..." Adelaide shook hands, shy smile faltering suddenly as her gaze fell upon Kathy. Of course – Adelaide had already seen Kathy once before, hadn't she? In a black and white photograph...

Adelaide seemed to shiver, visibly turning her thoughts back to the present. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Watson," she answered, a little too brightly. "I imagine you're both wondering why I asked you here today?"

Beth, who had also seen Adelaide's distress, took the woman's hands in hers. "Not knowing has been torture," she declared dramatically. "Why are we meeting in this dark and mysterious building?" She gave a theatrical gasp, lowering her voice. "Is it a secret society?"

Sally chuckled, echoed by Adelaide. "However did you guess? No, I... I have something else in mind for this place." She beckoned the others to follow, leading them into the next room. "And I wanted you both to be here to witness its beginning."

An earnest-faced young man in a smart suit rose from his seat at their approach and bowed, very obviously trying not to stare in confusion. "Ladies." On a small table beside him lay a leather case, a fountain pen and a single legal-looking document.

"Allow me to introduce Mr. Carmichael, of Hoare's Bank," Adelaide said pleasantly, voice becoming poisonously sweet as she turned to the young man. "If there are no other 'little formalities', Mr. Carmichael? I assure you, Mrs. Holmes and Mrs. Watson are perfectly capable of acting as witnesses for this particular transaction."

"No, Miss Pemberton – I mean, everything is in order, madam," Carmichael amended hastily, picking up the paper and offering it to her. "Forgive me, I simply presumed, the, er, General..."

Adelaide's eyes narrowed as she accepted the paper, voice now taking on a distinctly icy undertone. "Mr. Carmichael, I believe I already made clear to Mr. Hoare when he voiced his so very touching concerns upon the subject that this is, in fact, the 1890s. I was unaware that an unattached woman of means required a parent's – or indeed, anyone else's – permission to own property. Shall we proceed?" She held out the paper so that Beth and Sally could read it.

Sally and Beth had traded impressed looks at Adelaide's tirade, and Sally's eyes widened as she digested the legal jargon. "Miss Pemberton, if you don't mind my asking... why are you buying this place?"

About to put pen to paper, Adelaide hesitated, glancing at Carmichael, then appeared to make up her mind. "It was Miss Winter, really, who inspired the notion. Thinking on our, er, mutual acquaintance..." She flushed as she finished signing, replacing the cap on the pen; "made me reflect that, but for my position, and the concern of influential friends, there would probably have been little difference between our respective fates. Indeed, as Eduárd's wife..." Another shiver. "I would have had less recourse in escaping him than she. What good is wealth or position to a woman if she's legally bound to a fiend in human form as his... his chattel?" Slim, white hands were becoming fists, nails digging into her palms. "And a woman with neither of those things has even fewer options under the law. The workhouse is the best charity –" almost spitting the word, "she can expect for herself, or her children!"

Beth put a gentle hand on Adelaide's shoulder. "So, this place will be a... shelter for women?"

Adelaide nodded, drawing a steadying breath. "I mean to call it... the Barraclough-Johnson Institute."

"I like that." Sally's warm smile concealed the lump in her throat – and this really wasn't the time to point out that husbands could be battered, too! "But, um, maybe you could call it a Foundation? Sorry, but 'institute' can be a bit of a dirty word on the streets."

Adelaide looked thoughtful, interrupted next moment by a respectful cough from a red-faced Carmichael. "Will that be all, Miss Pemberton?"

"Er, yes, thank you, Mr. Carmichael. Good day to you."

Carmichael bowed, clearly relieved. "Good day, madam, ladies."

Sally had to grin as the young man gathered up his case and hurried from the room – the poor guy definitely hadn't been expecting a feminists' rally! "Well, the place is all yours now, Adelaide! Can we get the grand tour?"

"Of course," Adelaide smiled, rolling the deed up carefully.

However grand the place might have been in the beginning, it was obvious as they went round that any former owners had either had little money or inclination for repairs. "Yikes," murmured Sally, eyeing a large, mouldering patch on one of the bedroom ceilings. That roof must leak something awful!

Adelaide nodded ruefully. "There is a lot to be done, I know. I... did think about tearing it down altogether and rebuilding... but it's just as you said, Mrs. Watson, families won't come here for help if they don't trust my motives. I don't want to destroy a building that some of the people in this community will have lived near their whole lives, not unless I have to."

"You know..." Beth ventured, "I think I know someone who could help you out, if you like. I'm sure you've heard of Lord and Lady Granville? They host an annual Christmas dinner and they're very involved in charity? I'm sure Lady Harriet would be willing to give you some advice if nothing else, if you wanted it. She's awesome."

"She is," Sally put in enthusiastically. "We met the whole family last Christmas, they're lovely people!"

Adelaide raised intrigued brows. "Yes, I am mildly acquainted with Lady Granville. I think we met at a ball last year, or some such thing. I should be very glad to have her advice on the matter, thank you!"

Beth grinned. "I'll write to her when we get home and let her know."

"Speaking of home... would it be insensitive to ask what your father thinks of your new project?" Sally would've loved to have seen the General's face!

Adelaide shook her head, smiling. "Well, he was certainly surprised! Although under the circumstances, I think he would have approved of anything just then that kept me from moping around the house! He's very well, by the way – asked me to give you his best when he heard we were meeting today."

"Oh, how kind of him! We're so glad."

"And is everyone well at Baker Street? I hope Mr. Holmes isn't taking on too many cases at the moment!"

Beth couldn't quite hide a flinch. "Uh... no, he's not. He's, uh—"

Sally inwardly winced. What could Beth say, tell Adelaide that Sherlock was just recovering from a cold? The timing would be far too easy to work out!

"He's fine, thanks."

"...I'm delighted to hear it," Adelaide answered carefully, then shook her head. "But what am I thinking, keeping you and the little one standing about in this draughty old place? Why don't we all go and have a nice cup of tea?"

Kathy cooed and waved her fists, making her mother chuckle. "I think that's a 'yes, we'd love to!'"

By the time the girls were ready to leave the tea shop, it was raining heavily. Sally and Kathy waited inside while Beth hailed a cab, and then Sally tucked the baby tight against her and hurried up into the vehicle. They laughed breathlessly as they set off, as dry as they could manage to be and more than ready to change clothes and huddle up in front of the sitting room fire at home.

When they reached 221B, Beth ran pointe again, grumbling good-naturedly, allowing Sally to cover Kathy even more securely this time with her coat and dash up the steps into the welcoming doorway. "We're home!" she called.

John's black umbrella leaned haphazardly against the table in the foyer, dripping a pool of water on the floor. Beth frowned — it wasn't like him to be so careless. "John?" Sally called.

"Upstairs," came the terse answer from the sitting room.

The girls traded surprised and uneasy looks. Beth's first thought: Sherlock's done something stupid.

She hurried up the stairs, her deliberately casual "What's up?" dying on her lips as she reached the sitting room.

Sherlock was shivering in his armchair despite sitting beside the fire and being swathed in blankets. His hair was damp and tousled, a thermometer was in his mouth, and his feet were in a steaming bath of… mustard, by the smell of it. In spite of it all, he looked like a thundercloud.

John bent over him and took out the thermometer. Beth winced at the stern look he gave her husband, as if to say, Do you want to tell her, or shall I? Her heart sank when Sherlock simply glowered back, until a round of chesty coughs overcame him.

The way that John's expression shifted from stern to grim did nothing to make her feel better. "Damn fool was out in the rain without so much as a hat."

"It wasn't raining when I left!" Sherlock burst out. Then he muttered, "I was only gone for a few minutes…"

"That's not the bloody point, Holmes!" John snapped. "You're supposed to be keeping warm — you'd only just recovered from that cold!"

Beth was suddenly aware that Sally stood beside her, and she had no idea when the older girl had arrived. Beth could only stand frozen, unsure of what to say or even feel… Especially because, for one awful moment, Sherlock looked very much as he had when he'd gotten drunk in 1988.

You were supposed to make a difference. This is your fault.

Kathy began to fuss, turning in her mother's arms to look towards Sherlock… Sally hefted her to face solidly the other way. "Oh no, little lady, sorry, not right now. I think we'd better see if Mrs. Hudson needs any help downstairs." The look Sally gave Beth was one of pure apology, but Beth understood — Sally didn't want to risk the baby deciding to use her regeneration powers to make Uncle Sherlock better. Sally squeezed Beth's arm as she turned to go, and Beth flashed her half a smile back, grateful for the gesture.

She turned back to the men, insides writhing with guilt now for being gone as long as she had. You knew he was going through a depressive spell. You didn't try hard enough. She tried to push the hissing voice aside and turned to John. "How is he?"

"Warming up all right," John said in a bracing voice, but anxiety lurked in his hazel eyes. "With any luck, he won't have set himself back more than a day or two."

Mrs. Hudson appeared in the bedroom doorway. "The bed is ready, Doctor."

John nodded. "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. All right, Holmes, lift your feet." He dried Sherlock's feet, then lifted him in his arms, blankets and all, ignoring the detective's indignant spluttering. It would have been funny if the circumstances weren't so serious. The doctor carried him all the way to the bed, prepared with several lumps that Beth guessed were hot bricks and water bottles.

She trailed behind, feeling lost. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Mrs. Hudson sniffed. " Well, dear, if you can convince your husband not to turn himself into an icicle the minute your back is turned, you'll be doing better than either of us!" Beth flinched, looking miserably at her husband — that was the point, wasn't it? She'd promised to help him through his depressive episodes and she hadn't helped at all and now look where they were.

Oblivious to Beth's guilt, the landlady gathered up a pile of wet clothes from the sitting room floor and marched out into the hall and down the stairs.

Sherlock was avoiding Beth's gaze as John lowered him onto the bed, making her heart sink further. Did he blame her?

John stepped aside, nodding for Beth to pull up the covers. He pinned Sherlock with another stern look as she finished. "Now, can I trust you to stay in bed till the morning?"

Sherlock nodded grudgingly.

"Glad to hear it. Excuse me a moment, I'm rather in need of a dry change myself." John stepped out into the hallway, leaving husband and wife alone.

Her heart heavy, Beth sank to the edge of the bed. She reached towards the edge of the blankets, towards Sherlock, but stopped just short of touching him, her insides still writhing. If I hadn't gone, he wouldn't have either, and he'd be okay. She rose again, slowly. "I should probably —" She stopped, her voice low and thick with unshed tears, and cleared her throat. "I should probably let you rest." The damage was done and there was nothing else she could do right now.

Holmes hesitated for a moment, but Beth looked so sad and disappointed that he could hardly stand it. "All right..." he mumbled, and burrowed under the bedclothes. What right did she have to treat him like a child, anyhow, it still wasn't anyone's concern but his if he chose to take a much-needed breath of air!

He felt a touch on the blankets, heard Beth whisper, "I'm sorry," before her footsteps retreated out of the door.

Holmes's stomach plummeted – Beth was blaming herself for this?! Of course she is, his thoughts whispered accusingly, she always thinks you being a jerk means that there's something wrong with her! But it was already too late to call her back, and he'd promised Watson he wouldn't get up again. He would just have to talk with her properly and apologise when she returned.

Out in the sitting room, Beth began to pace, trying to calm down. She dug the heels of her hands into her eyes as tears threatened again. She had to get a grip on herself, she had to, she was going to be no use to anyone like this...

The familiar sound of agitated pacing reached Watson on the stairs, who looked into the sitting room with a frown of concern. "Beth?"

She started and turned toward him, sheepishly wiping away the lingering moisture in her eyes. "Hi."

His heart broke at the look on her face, coming over and hugging her. "I'm so sorry, Beth. I went after him with the umbrella the minute I realised he'd gone... but I should never have taken my eye off him in the first place, I could see he was getting restless!"

She almost began to cry in earnest then and only barely managed not to, grateful at least for the hug. "I wish I hadn't gone out," she said in a small voice. She hurried on before he could respond to that, as she had a pretty good idea of what he'd say. "I mean... I know neither of us can be with him twenty-four/seven, but... I promised him. I promised him I would help him get through his depressive spells and I—" her throat closed up suddenly, and she swallowed with effort— "haven't."

He shook his head at once. "You are helping, Beth, far more than you might think. I've seen Holmes go through this sort of thing many times, don't forget, and I can see the difference it's been making for him, having you near." And it hadn't been easy, watching his best friend learning to lean on someone besides himself...

Beth bit her lip, not entirely convinced. "John... what if he gets sick? I mean, really sick." It was a fear that had been shrilling at the back of her mind ever since Time had been unfrozen. Antibiotics didn't exist yet, and vaccines had been developed for only a handful of diseases. "I mean... you can even die of pneumonia right now—right up through next century!"

Watson hesitated, not wishing to confirm Beth's fears by voicing his own... but if the hospital incident had been anything to go by, then he owed her the unvarnished truth, it would be disrespectful to do otherwise. "If Holmes should take a turn for the worse?" he began slowly. "Then we'll have a very difficult time ahead of us, Beth. It's been a harsh winter, and his immune system has taken a thrashing: first with his illness during Frozen Time, then those two encounters with the Baron's thugs... If he hadn't fallen ill again after all of that, I'd have been very surprised." Smiling wryly, "Of course, under ordinary circumstances, Holmes wanting to get out of the house after his cold would have been a promising sign!" He sighed. "It's just a pity he got the urge right before a rainstorm."

She made a noise that was half a laugh, half a sob, because it did figure, didn't it? And now that she'd gotten the truth straight-up, she didn't know what to do with it. All she could do was rest her head on John's shoulder and let him hold her.

A/N: Aaaaand we're back! Hello, hello! Hope you are all doing okay in this time of corona.

We ourselves have been keeping busy — Ria came out with a whole new book! The Hunting of the Nark: Sherlock Holmes Through the Looking-Glass — you can find it on MX Publishing's website, and illustrated by Sky, no less! Also, Sky has been very active in Sherlockian circles on Twitter, so if you're on Twitter too, say hello! :D Her handle is studyinmadeline.