A/N: Look, an update that didn't take a year! Welcome to the build-up to the duel, and thank you as always for your lovely reviews!
John and Molly were nearly halfway across town when they were intercepted by Colonel Moran's lickspittle, Sergeant Moriarty. He saluted John, then doffed his cap and made Molly a mocking bow. "Good morning Miss Hooper, Doctor Watson. Where are you off to in such a rush?" He raised his hand as if to shade his eyes and peered around in an exaggerated fashion. "I don't see the good Captain about, could it be that you've finally managed to steal away his mistress from under his very nose?" The Irishman's eyes glittered with malice. "After all, you've made no secret of your desire to do so."
Doctor Watson pulled himself up to his full height and glared at the other man. "I am escorting Miss Hooper to the home of Reverend Stamford, Sergeant," he said, heavily emphasizing his rank. "Not that it is any of your business. Nor will I tolerate your slanders against Miss Hooper's character."
He was rather red in the face and breathing quite heavily, so much so that Molly was alarmed for his physical well-being; he seemed on the verge of apoplexy, and in such a temper that she feared he would blurt out the truth of their ongoing deception and thus destroy any hopes she might have of being allowed her freedom.
For those reasons - to protect not only herself and Captain Holmes, but Doctor Watson as well - she reached out and placed a hand on the doctor's shoulder, facing Sergeant Moriarty squarely and with head held high. "It's all right, Doctor. My reputation is hardly worth defending, and it is my own foolish heart that's to blame. You see, Sergeant, Captain Holmes made me certain - that is to say, he gave me to believe that he and I, that we would…" She blushed and faltered, and as she'd hoped, John had cooled down enough to step in and finish the lie for her.
The only pity was, she knew he wasn't doing it for his friend's sake, but for hers.
"She believed that Captain Holmes would make her his wife," Watson said coldly. "Having discovered that he had no intention of doing so, that he was simply using her for his own selfish pleasure, she begged my assistance and I thought it best to place her under Reverend Stamford's protection until she can be returned to her aunt's home in Baxton."
"Captain Holmes seems to be under the impression that Colonel Moran is of a mind to allow me my freedom," Molly put in, doing her best to school her expression into one of humility and shame. "All I want to do now is go home, to beg forgiveness from my dear Aunt Martha for disregarding her warnings."
And she did, she did want to go home, to seek solace in Aunt Martha's loving embrace. She'd known that nothing good would come of the role she'd been forced into playing - by her own actions, she would place the blame squarely on her own shoulders, where it belonged! - but she'd never expected that it might end like this. With two former friends squaring off against one another, pistols at dawn, and her own life still likely hanging in the balance.
Moriarty pursed his lips and rocked back on his heels. "Oho, so that's the way of it, is it," he remarked. "Well, since Captain Holmes appears to have anticipated the reason for his dinner invitation, I suppose it doesn't matter if I share the truth of the matter now."
"And that truth is what?" John barked out. "Has Captain Holmes' famous deductive ability finally been proved fallible, or is Miss Hooper free to return to her home? Speak up, man!"
Moriarty scowled at the doctor's tone - he really was intolerably insolent! - but shrugged. "Yes, the Colonel has grown bored of the game and decided the little country mouse is no threat." He examined his nails as if they were more important than the two people standing in front of him. Then he snapped his eyes so they met Molly's, cold and hostile. With a nasty smile he added, "However, if she'd rather stay here, I'm sure she and the Colonel could come to some kind of an…agreement."
That was too much for John, who seized the other man by his jacket and pulled him roughly toward him. "Unless you wish to meet me upon the field of honour after I've finished with Holmes," he snarled, "you'd do well to watch how you speak to the lady!"
Moriarty had gone quite still. Slowly, almost casually, he did something with his hands that caused John to lose his grasp and stumble back a single step. "Well, well," he said softly. "So that's how it is, eh? Two dear friends come to blows over a woman." He let out an exaggerated sigh and placed a hand over his heart. "The age-old story. Well. I wish you the best of luck, Doctor. Pistols at dawn, is it? Be sure to choose your second wisely. A pity Holmes has far fewer choices in such matters than you do."
With that, he turned and strolled away, hands behind his back, as if he hadn't a care in the world.
John and Molly watched him go, John still breathing heavily. "Do, do you think he spoke the truth?" Molly asked after a few moments' silence. "Will Colonel Moran allow me to leave?" She refrained from adding 'as Sherlock deduced', knowing it would only set John off again.
He shrugged. "Who knows what goes on in that bastard's mind?" he asked, adding almost absent-mindedly, "I beg your pardon."
"If it's true, then I can go straight to my aunt's home, back to Baxton, instead of imposing upon the goodwill of Reverend Stamford and his wife," she said, fighting to keep her voice steady. "And there'll be no need of you defending my honour; you and Captain Holmes can resume your friendship, I should think, if I'm no longer here to cause dissension between you."
The look he gave her made her catch her breath. "Please, John," she said, placing a hand on his arm. "I beg of you, do not follow through with your threat, there's not need, I tell you! What happened between Sherlock and I was -"
"It is not only your honour that is at stake here," John replied stiffly. "But my own, and that of Captain Holmes." She marked the emphasis he placed on the other man's name, and despaired silently. "I will deliver you to Reverend Stamford as I said I would, and then I shall make inquiries of Colonel Moran regarding his intentions toward you. If he confirms that you are to be allowed to return to your home, then I shall arrange an escort and send you back there this very day."
Then he closed his mouth with a snap, his lips set in a tight, grim line, and Molly recognized that he would not hear any more arguments from her. His mind was set, and there was nothing she might do to change it.
Despairing, she allowed him to deposit her at the Stamford residence, where she was greeted with a warmth she neither expected nor felt she deserved. She'd avoided attending church services during her time in Marlboro, partially because Captain Holmes declined to attend but also because she had felt it wouldn't be proper for her to do so. Not while she was masquerading as a harlot - and she felt even less worthy now that the masquerade had become a fact, if only for one glorious night.
Mrs. Stamford clucked over Captain Holmes' supposed perfidy, insisting that she lie down and rest. When Molly protested, tried to offer her assistance in any necessary household chores to show her gratitude for their assistance, Reverend Stamford took her hands in his. With a kindly smile he said, "Please, my dear, you've had a very trying time. Rest, recover yourself for a bit, then join us if you like."
Molly bowed her head, unable to protest further despite her near desperate desire to defend Sherlock's honour. How could she cherish the thought of her freedom when it was being purchased with not only that good man's reputation, but possibly his life? As she lay down obediently on the bed (belonging to two of the Stamford daughters), the words from one of Aesop's tales came to her mind, and she turned her face to the pillow to stifle her sudden sobs.
Have you ever made a wish and got what you wanted, only for the reality to fall far short of the expectation?
oOo
Sherlock bit off a curse as he puffed furiously on his pipe. He longed to pace about the room, to assist in ratiocination, but the last time he'd tried his cursed leg had given out from underneath him. Would he be forever lame, forced to take up a walking-stick, eventually decommissioned and sent home for his uselessness?
He smiled grimly. That is, of course, as long as he wasn't shot dead by his former best friend in the morning.
The smile faded, twisted into a frown. John was hot-headed, there was no doubt about it, but surely even his fury would have cooled by dawn! If not, then perhaps his second might be able to convince him?
The frown deepened. A second, damn, he had to choose one, he supposed it would be impossible for him to nominate Wiggins, more's the pity, as he wasn't an officer and a gentleman. But their seconds, whoever they ended up being, would confer and surely - surely! - John would agree that his mere appearance, his willingness to appear on the duelling grounds, would be enough to satisfy his sense of outraged morality?
A knock at the door interrupted his black thoughts. "Come," he barked out, expecting Wiggins.
Much to his astonishment, it was Lieutenant Anderson who entered. After offering a smart salute, which Sherlock somewhat diffidently returned, he spoke. "I understand that Doctor Watson has removed your - that is, he's removed Miss Hooper from your household and brought her to stay with Reverend Stamford."
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "And from whom did you hear that?" he inquired, genuinely curious. Surely John wouldn't have advertised his intentions to anyone - well, except for his potential second, whoever that might be. Probably one of the many officers with whom John had an amiable relationship.
A pity he himself had no such amiable relationships.
Anderson shrugged, still standing stiffly in front of Sherlock's chair. He glanced down at the chair opposite, and Sherlock waved to indicate he might sit. "Apparently Sergeant Moriarty was seen to have words with the doctor and Miss Hooper, on their way to Reverend Stamford's home. Is it true that Colonel Moran is to allow her to return home?"
That question was quite impertinent, and it was on the tip of Sherlock's tongue to tell Anderson so in no uncertain terms, but he paused and cogitated for a moment before speaking. "Yes, that is my belief," he agreed. "I have yet to have that belief confirmed by the colonel, you understand."
Anderson nodded, a flash of relief crossing his narrow features. Relief at not having been told he was an idiot and to get out? Most likely. "Is it also true that you and Doctor Watson are to meet on the field of honour? Forgive my asking," he added hastily as he noted the darkening expression on Sherlock's face, "but I merely wished to ascertain the truth of the matter, and determine if you might find yourself in need of a second."
Sherlock's eyebrow rose in pure astonishment. "Am I to understand that you are offering yourself in that role, Lieutenant?"
Anderson shifted a bit in his seat, then met his gaze squarely. "I am," he confirmed with a sharp nod. "I know we haven't exactly been friendly with one another, but I feel it my duty to step in when the only other man I know who would offer himself for that role is, unfortunately, the very man you are to face tomorrow morning."
It was Sherlock's turn to shift uncomfortably, although he told himself it was merely due to the stiffness in his leg from sitting for so long. "I…thank you," he said, somewhat haltingly. "The gesture is appreciated - and accepted." He stood and offered his hand, Anderson took it, and the deal was sealed.
If John could not be talked out of this foolishness, at least Sherlock would not have to face him alone.
It was cold comfort, to be sure.
After the appropriate arrangements had been made - the pistols examined, the time and exact place described and other such tedious but necessary details worked out that the lieutenant might confirm them with whomever John selected to stand by his side - Sherlock bade the other man good day and returned to his chair. Before he could do more than take up his abandoned pipe, however, another knock came at the door.
This time it was Wiggins, looking quite troubled. "I've a message for you from Colonel Moran," he said, offering the document to Sherlock, who accepted it with a nod and an inquisitive eyebrow. For it was quite obvious that Wiggins had more to say. "And I've also been instructed by Doctor Watson to, to fetch Miss 'ooper's belongings."
He always dropped his haitches when nervous. "Quite right," was all Sherlock said, keeping his face quite expressionless. "She is currently residing with the Stamfords, although this," he glanced at the sealed document, "might alter that."
He ignored the pang he felt at her absence, brief though it had been, instead turning to the message Wiggins had delivered. He broke the seal and scanned the brief message. It was in Moran's own hand, written with poisonous politeness, and he bit back a scowl as he read it over.
Captain Holmes, I hope this message finds you well. Having considered the matter, I am agreeable to Miss Hooper being returned to her aunt, on the condition that she never return here. As I understand that you have recently cast her aside, there will obviously be no motivations of a romantic nature for her to do so. In light of this, and of other news I have been informed of this morning, I believe it best if we were to delay our dinner until some more propitious time. I am certain you understand why this is for the best. With regrets, Yours Most Felicitously, Colonel Sebastion Moran
"Bad news, sir?"
Wiggins' question brought Sherlock back to himself, and he realized he'd crumpled the missive in his fist. "No, quite the contrary," he said once he felt he could control his voice. "Miss Hooper is to be allowed to return to her aunt in Baxton. Pray inform her of this news when you bring her things to her." He gestured at the the small trunk containing her clothing and other belongings he'd brought back from her aunt.
Wiggins obediently stooped to take it up, then hesitated. "Any other message I might give the missus?" he asked, then blushed a bright crimson. "Ah, sorry, that is to say, to Miss 'ooper," he stammered. "Do you want to write her a note or sommat?"
It was disgraceful how much the lad's pronunciation slipped when he was feeling overly emotional. "No, no note. Simply inform her that she is free to leave, and that I encourage her to do so with the utmost haste." Lest Moran change his mind again, he meant, but it was clear from Wiggins' frown that the young man took it in quite another way.
"She's been good to me, very kind," he said reprovingly. "And beggin' your pardon sir, but she's been very kind to you as well, helpin' with your leg and all-"
"That will be quite enough," Sherlock snapped. "Bring her her belongings, tell her she's free to go, and return to your duties. Is that clear?"
Wiggins snapped to attention and saluted. "Yes, sir, quite clear, sir."
He hefted the trunk to his shoulder, pivoted smartly on one heel, and marched through the door, his stiff back eloquent with disapproval.
He was not so far gone as to allow the door to slam behind him, but he did shut it quite firmly.
Sherlock sank heavily into his chair, and spent the remainder of the morning brooding over the utter cock-up he'd made of this whole damned situation.