"Dr Watson?"
I looked up as the woman entered my practice, hand raised politely to knock on the doorframe. She was several years older than me, but still quite handsome, with soft brown eyes and hair artfully arranged. Her dress was just as cleverly devised, taking fullest advantage of her unusual height, the woman being not much shorter than myself.
"I'm afraid I am just about to close for the day, so unless it is something particularly pressing, you may need to return in the morning."
Her smile widened. "This will only take a moment, doctor. I'm not really here for a consultation."
My eyebrows raised, and I examined the woman more closely. It was rare, but there had been occasions where people wanting Holmes' services came to me first, often out of some belief that he would be more likely to help them if I pled their case. It never worked, as Holmes took all his cases at his own discretion, and I told as much to anyone who tried it.
This woman, however, did not show the usual nervousness and agitated manner of someone looking for Holmes. She seemed instead quite relaxed, hands clasped loosely around her purse with the casual demeanour of one on a social visit.
If anything, she reminded me more of the man who had once come to my practice to deliver a veiled threat connected to the case Holmes had been pursuing. Just like the woman currently in my office, that man had been quite self-possessed, coolly confident in his task and with no evidence of nerves or doubt. He believed I could be used as a mere messenger, useful only in passing his threat along to Holmes – he was wrong, but that is a story for another day.
This woman had the same self-confidence, yet not the same air of malice. Taking a risk, I gestures toward the chair in front of my desk. "Please, take a seat. I can spare a few moments for you before I must leave."
"Thank you, Dr Watson." Her skirts gently fell around her as she sat. "We have not met before, but soon we are to be quite closely related, and I wanted to meet you before then." She flushed slightly. "I hope you don't mind me saying so, but you are less intimidating than Mr Sherlock Holmes."
I took no offence, because I could not but agree. Holmes' natural reserve and discomfort with emotion easily came across as callousness, whereas as a doctor, I had worked hard to be approachable to people from all walks of life. Despite my occasional doubts of Holmes' affection, or his irritation with my optimism, overall, it suited us well.
It was the other part of her statement that caught my attention. "Closely related? How do you mean?" I had no living family, and as far as I knew, all of Mary's relations had died before I'd met her. The remark about Holmes confused the matter further, as although I considered him as close as my brother – closer, in fact, as I was never particularly close to the brother I had grown up with, especially as adults – I was not sure he felt the same.
For a moment, she looked slightly surprised, but the emotion was quickly hidden. "I am engaged to Mr Mycroft Holmes. I'm sure we'll meet at the wedding, but I thought it important to meet his brothers before then."
"As far as I'm aware, Mycroft only has the one brother, Sherlock, but I would be happy to introduce you." I stood from my chair, gathering my coat. "Unless he's picked up a case since this morning, he should be at home."
"I'll gladly take you up on your invitation, but I wanted to meet you as well, doctor." She stood as well, looking at me with unexpected openness for a woman I had only met a quarter hour ago. "Mycroft has never been a demonstrative man, but when he does talk about your and Sherlock's adventures, I know him well enough to see his affection. He considers you a brother also."
I sank back into my chair, rather shocked. I had come to know Mycroft well over the course of my friendship with Sherlock Holmes, especially in the years after Reichenbach, yet I never would have suspected him of harbouring such feelings for me. That I held some esteem in his eyes, I was aware of, but to consider me a brother? I found myself feeling unaccountably touched.
Once the shock of that revelation had worn off, I was at somewhat of a loss. After this woman had displayed such wonderful honesty to me, I felt it would be unchivalrous to give her any less in return, yet would informing her of the truth only hurt all parties involved. I looked down at my wedding ring, and knew I had to tell her. It would only be more painful if she discovered after the wedding. "Madame, please excuse me for mentioning it, but are you sure Mycroft's reasons for marriage are the same as your own?"
She seemed confused. I could not help but glance down at my ring again, wondering what Mary would have said if someone had asked her such a question. Mary would also have been confused, I supposed, and perhaps a little angry that someone had doubted me. Hopefully, there would normally be the same reason here, but if there were, I had only myself to blame.
The woman followed my gaze down to my ring, and to my surprise, she laughed. "Don't worry, I know perfectly well Mycroft's not in love with me," she informed me cheerfully. "I'm not in love with him either. My first husband was the love of my life and I have no intention of replacing him."
"Then why..." I hesitated, stumbling over the indelicacy of the question.
"Why am I going to marry him?" she finished. "Mycroft has been a great friend to me for many years, and I know I can trust him." Her gaze grew wistful. "Sometimes, you just want someone to grow old with."
I thought of long evenings by the fireside with Holmes, his plans to retire someday and be a beekeeper, and the image of a cottage by the sea with two bedrooms. "I know just what you mean."
