Truth or dare – Part 1

Harriet:

It had been a busy and tiring day at St. Anne's, but fortunately not a very long one, as especially before Christmas, many a person remembered their charitable duties and thus we had more helping hands than usual. And so on my way back, as it was not yet three in the afternoon and Sherlock had been called up north on a case six days ago and had not yet returned, I decided to drop by the Watson's to visit Mary. We had met often over the last few weeks since her return, and I had come to like her very much, as Sherlock had predicted, and we got on well. Over this relatively short period of time, we had spent many afternoons together preparing for the season, knitting, embroidering, sewing, and chatting all the while over a steaming hot cup of tea. This way we had managed to get almost all our presents done and gotten to know each other well enough to consider one another friends. I have to admit, it also served the double purpose of helping Mrs Watson to heal. I knew what had happened, was present, when the man who had killed little Henry was caught and thus she did not need to restrain herself but could talk freely. And it did seem to help. Both her husband and herself were growing closer again and the shadow that had darkened their relationship slowly but surely lifted.

Knocking on the Watson's front door, it was opened promptly by Mary's nurse, as if I had been expected. Mrs Spencer was a prim and stout woman of around fifty, industrious, straightforward and warm-hearted without any hint of insincerity or false pity. I had known her for a while and while she had worked at St. Anne's for some months, as her former employer had died after a long illness, I was glad I could be of service in suggesting her for the vacancy and sad a the same time to have lost one of my best nurses.

I was led into the living room by her and was greeted not only with Mary Watson's, but also her husband's sight, both sitting together, reading and laughing. It was such a lovely picture it immediately lifted my mood, while I thought of excusing myself straight after entering to leave for home. But neither would have any of it. As soon as Mrs Watson had glanced up and seen me, she smiled and beckoned me to come into the room. I did but left my outerwear on to show it would be a short visit today, only unbuttoning the coat, so I would not overheat in the comfortably warm and snug sitting room.

"Harriet!" Mary exclaimed, smiling contently, "I am glad you have come. We have just been thinking about what to give to your husband for Christmas, but while we have many hilarious ideas, we have not managed to find anything that is really suitable. Please help us out, will you?"

"Oh dear!" I exclaimed, having been faced with the same kind of trouble till I resorted to simply asking my spouse if there was anything, in particular, he would want as a gift from me.

His answer had been, that he would like something I had made for him myself and that he could have on him, like an embroidered handkerchief or a scarf, or a pair of thick woollen socks. - This was at least the part I could tell people openly, the part I could hardly tell anybody was, that he had added with one of his incredibly endearing, cheekily boyish grins, that he also wished to make love to me under a mistletoe, hung up over our bed on Christmas morning. When I had asked him, why the mistletoe, he had smiled even broader and told me: "Because I am a true romantic." At which we both had started laughing. Sherlock really was not much of a romantic, but he had his charms and he was a good husband, reliable friend and a surprisingly ardent lover. There was really nothing for me to wish for. If somebody would have asked me, how I would describe the perfect husband, I would have described Mr Sherlock Holmes. My Mr Sherlock Holmes.

With a slight smile on my face, I took the offered seat and began thinking over various ideas I had had myself, but which I then had discarded, as I thought them to be too impersonal a present for a wife to give to her husband. With his simple request, I was more than happy and it was needless to say, I put all my love into what I was making for him. But still, what could I suggest my husband would like? Many a thing of course, but what was suitable to recommend in this instance? At long last, I remembered Sherlock's new desk which now stood in my study, cramming it a little, and which as yet was not fitted out and could do with a decent desk pad or any other stationary item.

"I knew you would have an idea, Harriet," Mary smiled turning around with her wheelchair moving with surprising agility towards the sideboard and offering me a cup of tea, which I declined.

"I told you, John, a wife would know what to give to her husband." she carried on, teasing her own spouse with an ease which showed just how close they were growing again.

John Watson huffed with feigned indignation then bend down to kiss her temple with a loving smile, a smile that warmed my own heart for its sincere depth and affection.

After asking, if there was anything I could do for them and whether they would like to join us for Christmas dinner, I was on my way back to Baker Street. They had agreed to come and I was overjoyed. Never one for the big events my brother and sister in law were hosting, this joy was not completely bare of selfishness on my part, as it afforded Sherlock and me a good excuse not to go down to Lewes and be paraded around. I knew Cedric was glad for me to be married so happily, but he also was glad to have me married for the sole reason, that a married sister at twenty-eight, even though she worked as a doctor, appeared so much more respectable and not so much like a stubborn old spinster having her own way.

We would not get out of Cedric's and Imogene's New Years reception, though, and in my opinion, one such function was more than enough within the span of three weeks. Which reminded me, that I still needed to take care of acquiring a dinner dress for the occasion, as my sister in law liked to maintain a certain style. Admittedly, her events were well planned and also fairly pleasant as long as I was not forced to make too much small talk, at which I was notoriously awkward.

All this went through my head as I wandered towards home. It was getting dark already even though it was just nearing four and I felt the temperatures drop even further. I was halfway up Baker Street, when the first snowflakes fell, soft and light like downy feathers. Stretching out my hand, I caught one and examined it, as it sat there on my black leather glove, its intricate pattern clearly visible. I was so lost in my musings, that I missed the carriage coming to a halt next to me and the man stepping up behind me, softly leaning towards me and glancing over my shoulder.

"They are magical things, are they not?" my husband's calm voice whispered into my ear. I could literally hear him smile and my heart skipped a beat.

"I had hoped you would return today," I whispered back, leaning into the embrace as he wrapped his arms around me, enjoying the sensation of having him close to me again.

My bed had felt so empty and cold and so incredibly large. Frequently I had gone to bed on my side of it and had woken up on his the next morning, head deeply buried in his pillow as if to find comfort in his lingering scent of tobacco, aftershave and his own musky smell. But it was his warmth I had missed the most, his arms wrapped around me and his breath tickling the back of my neck. - Even his slight occasional snore. Now he was back and I looked forward to snuggling up to him as soon as was possible, of kissing his lips, caressing him, holding him close, being one with him.

"Cabby, could you drop off my luggage at 221B? And take the ladies bag with you as well. Oh, and tell the maid to have a pot of tea ready for us, but that we might be a while yet." Sherlock ordered, taking my Gladstone bag from me, and handing it to the round-faced man who had waited patiently, seemingly not caring about the cold.

"And now?" I enquired, curiously as we stood there in the increasing gloom, snowflakes swirling around us.

"Now we take a stroll through the park, my love. Just you and me, watching the ground being covered with snow and steal a bit of time." he smiled, his eyes sparkling and upon raising an eyebrow at him, he explained further: "London snow is only ever lovely for the first few hours, before it is covered in a layer of coal dust and grime."

"And there I was thinking to have found a romantic streak in you after all..."

"You have, just don't tell anybody." Sherlock laughed as we wandered off towards Regents Park.

"They would think me a blatant liar at any rate."

xxx

The park lay quietly before us and hardly a soul had ventured out as we had, to enjoy the pleasures of freshly fallen snow. By now the ground was lightly covered in a dusting of sparkling crystals as the light of the gas lamps reflected off of it. The atmosphere was as serene as could be in the middle of London, it was soothing and comforting and beautiful.

"Have I promised too much?" my husband asked when we had strolled around for almost a quarter of an hour without the need of speaking a word, our arms entwined and our hearts full of joy at being in each others company after almost a week apart.

"No. It is lovely."

"You have no idea, how often I have walked like this all on my own, longing for somebody to share this with me, Harriet. Only when I was away for those few days did I realise, how lonely I was without you and how lost I would be, should anything ever happen to you."

"Then I will take great care of myself because I never want you to be unhappy," I replied, touched by the tenderness he displayed, wondering how he had been before we had met, and how he was when I was not around. "But Sherlock, the same applies to me. I have missed you dearly. Even before I have known you, I have missed you, I just did not know it. Please promise me, to always be careful."

He did, of course, and once more we fell silent. This comfortable silence, when there is simply no need for words.

We were on our way back, when we spotted another couple, just as engrossed in their own presence as we were. But as their dog ran towards us, we eventually had to take notice. With a wagging tail, the young spaniel jumped up, his snowy paws leaving wet prints on my skirt as it glanced up at me expectantly.

"Fido, no!" the man cried out, leaving his charming companion and hurried towards us to drag the animal away by its collar.

"There is no harm done, Geoffrey," Sherlock said smoothly, a mischievous grin creeping across his face, reaching to his eyes, twinkling with amusement.

At hearing my husbands voice and the familiar address, the young man looked up in astonishment, his eyes darting from Sherlock's to my face and back.

"Oh, I am sorry, Sherlock, I had taken you for two lovers..." he trailed off, then, looking slightly sheepish added: "Which of course you are. I tend to forget you've gotten married."

"Harriet, this is my cousin thrice removed, Doctor Geoffrey Verner, who shares a practice with Doctor Watson, as you might remember, and his fiancée Miss Agnes Deveraux; Miss Deveraux, Geoffrey this is my wife Harriet."

"Pleasure to meet you, at last, Mrs Holmes" he smiled and I thought I saw a slight family resemblance.

"We should have called on you sooner, but we have not quite gotten around to do our visits, I am afraid."

Now Geoffrey Verner grinned: "Oh, and I would say it is a lot of explaining you have to do there, too. I myself thought Doctor Watson was trying to be funny when he returned from Winchester telling me Sherlock's bachelorhood had been in danger and was now lost to matrimony… - We had joked about it only a few days earlier, when he had told me, about the case you worked on and that your client was a stunning young woman, a doctor at that, with a great deal of intelligence. - I see he was not overstating things. But I would not have believed it, had Watson not spoken of both of you so very often and how you helped with Mrs Watson and everything."

"It was nothing really." Sherlock rejected the hidden compliment, stepping aside to let a man wrapped up in a muffler and bowler hat pass our group. He seemed to be the only creature aside from us to be out and about, but unlike us, he clearly did not enjoy the fresh snow as he hurried towards the street.

"But this change in the situation, of course, makes it a bit more easy for my own wedding, as I don't need to find a woman willing to act as your dinner partner, dear cousin." Geoffrey Verner carried on, undeterred.

"I never said I would accept the invitation." was his cousin's elusive answer. I knew Sherlock did not like parties all that much either.

Now it was Geoffrey Verner's turn to smile mischievously: "Oh you will. You are too curious not to come and there will be a few interesting people to meet. But I don't want to give away too much. So no false excuses, I will see you at my wedding, Sherlock, Mrs Holmes."

Miss Deveraux's and my eyes met and neither of us could suppress a smirk as we saw the disgruntled expression on Sherlock Holmes' face that did not really fit with the amusement clearly showing in his eyes.

Agnes Deveraux was a fair creature with astonishingly dark eyes for her complexion and a lovely heart-shaped face. There was a decidedly humorous streak around her mouth and she had something dreamy about her. We exchanged a few more pleasantries, before parting and while Doctor Verner escorted his betrothed back to her families house, their dog scampering through the snow once more, wagging its tail with much enthusiasm, Sherlock and I walked back to our own home.

"I have not realised, how cold it is," I remarked as we neared the streets again, shivering slightly.

"Don't worry, my dear, I am intending to warm you up, very soon," he assured me, grinning and a gleam to his eyes that told me very vividly what he had in mind once we were home.

We were just about to step out of the park gate when from some distance, we heard the startling cry of a man and the more piercing scream of a woman along a dog barking frantically.

"Help! We need help!"

"Good Lord! What is going on?" I gasped, gripping my husbands arm a bit more tightly than I had done before.

"I fear we'll find out soon enough." was Sherlock's dry response as a police constable hastened past us, almost knocking us off our feet, obviously having been alerted by the distressed cries.

Hurriedly, forgetting about the cold, we followed the policeman back up the path we had just taken and then turned right into another one which led towards a little bridge crossing a narrow pond little less than a quarter of a mile from where we had met Doctor Verner and Miss Deveraux. It was on this bridge that both of them now stood, their gaze fixed on something in the water, the latter clearly in hysterics. Their dog only seemed perfectly content, running up and down the bank as if he had the time of his life.

We could see the policeman reach the pair and after seeing what had arrested their attention he lifted his whistle to his lips and a shrill sound pierced the otherwise quiet and serene expanse of the park.