A new case at last. Well, not exactly, since this will be a story Holmes tells over dinner and it happened almost two decades back, but hey...

Part 1 – A study in bruises

Sherlock:

"Is my dress in order, dear? Am I presentable?" my wife asked as she got herself ready for our dinner engagement with the Stamfords.

Well, what was there to say? Harriet looked as lovely as ever and the dress she had acquired suited her just fine. But as it was, for all I cared she could run around in rags and I would still think her to be stunning. Yet, her dress was far from being a rag and the dusky rose-colour made her complexion glow in a way that would make many a woman jealous and many a man stare. And stare was what I did at this moment. For a little more than half a year we were married now and still, on occasion it was still as unbelievable to me as it had been at the very beginning, that such a woman as Harriet would have me. Or rather put up with me, for I knew well enough that I was not an easy person to live with. I have to admit, that I had been very nervous, very much so, in fact, when I proposed to her, despite the situation we had found ourselves in. Yes, it had been necessary and yet, now I knew that I had loved Hattie from the very first moment on and that she seemed to do, too, made me happy in a way I never thought I would be. It appeared even I could be a fool in love despite always having claimed otherwise.

"Are you alright? Is something wrong, Sherlock?" she inquired.

Of course, I had been so preoccupied with my thoughts that I had not answered her.

"As always, you look more than presentable, my love. - And as always I consider myself a lucky fellow indeed to have such a wife as you with beauty and brains to match. So no, nothing is wrong, aside from that, for a moment, you have taken my breath away."

Blushing Harriet replied: "I was not fishing for compliments, Sherlock, I merely wanted to know if I have managed to put on the dress properly. On occasion, a maid comes in handy, but since we are gone this evening, I thought I might just as well give Martha off. Are all the buttons closed properly?"

"Hattie, even had you asked for a compliment, it would have been a pleasure to give it and no less sincere. As it is, I know you are rather not being complimented and yet, what is a husband to do, but to admit that he thinks his wife is absolutely lovely? Now, turn around and let me have a look, the front seems to be in perfect order."

As it was, two buttons were not pulled through their buttonholes properly and the sash was twisted, but that was all.

I refrained from pointing out, that had she waited for me to emerge from the bathroom it would have been a lot easier for her to get dressed. There was little doubt that she knew that very well, but since she liked her independence as yet, in her lovable stubbornness she still insisted on dressing herself, even though it got increasingly difficult. Somehow our little one always got in the way and since she had increased so quickly this past week, she had developed an endearing clumsiness as she struggled to adjust to her ever growing middle.

"Thank you, Sherlock. Yes, I know what you want to say, that I should have waited for you to help me. But soon enough I will need help with so many things like buttoning my shoes, getting up from a sofa or armchair and even the bed – and I don't even want to think how to get in and out of the bathtub – that at the moment I cherish the ability to be able to do these things for myself. So as long as..."

At this point I started laughing.

"Yes, that was exactly what I have been thinking, Hattie."

"I knew it!" she smirked, poking her index-finger into my chest.

"And? Can you fault me for wanting to help you as much as I can? After all, if not for me, you wouldn't be in this condition."

Now she laughed, too.

"No, I wouldn't. And of course I can't fault you for wanting to help me. Don't think I don't appreciate your effort. I do. Very much, as a matter of fact. Sometimes I wonder how I deserve a man as good as you... - I love you so much."

Oh well, the moods of a pregnant woman were a treacherous thing indeed. Pulling her into my arms I wiped away the tears that all of a sudden had begun to roll down her cheeks as her emotions ran rampant with her.

"Blast! I'm being silly again, aren't I?" she asked, looking up into my eyes with her bright ones in which I very well could drown each end every time.

"Yes, perhaps. - But you know, a far famed doctor specialised in women's diseases, childbirth and infant-care once told me that it is completely normal."

"Must have been some kind of idiot. At any rate, it might be normal, but it sure enough doesn't feel like it. Really, I feel so foolish."

"And there is no need to. So, I think I better get dressed as well, what do you say?"

She looked me up and down with a mock frown as I stood there with my hair still wet from the bath I had taken and the towel I had wrapped around myself fallen to the floor.

"Well, a little more clothing might indeed be an idea."

"A little more? That would indicate I would wear any at the moment."

"Right, a lot more. You are not exactly Lady Godiva."

"No, for one I am the wrong gender and I have no intention to ride a horse this evening."

"Thank goodness!"

Yes, thank goodness, indeed. My wife was beaming again, her eyes sparkling with the remnants of her short-lived tears and renewed glee.

xxx

"Holmes!" Stamford greeted me with outstretched hands. "Dear me, we haven't seen each other in a long while and considering that you had us all mourn your death, I have to say, I never thought I would ever see you again. You look well."

"Especially considering that only a little more than a year back I was still supposedly as dead as a doornail," I smirked.

"Very true. For a dead man you look remarkably alive. As a matter of fact, you look remarkably happy. The Watsons have already arrived and now we are only waiting for..." he stopped himself, grinning sneakily while at the same time looking up and down the street.

"You don't need to smirk like that, Stanford, Watson told me you have invited Doctor Stephens and as it is, I thought I'd be a gentleman and escort her here."

"Oh. Ah well, it was supposed to be a surprise..."

"It was, this or the other way. But I had been present when the message was delivered to her, so you can't blame poor Watson for spoiling your scheme. Madam..."

At last I turned around to help my wife out of the four-wheeler we had taken and where, at my request, she had huddled in a corner as best as was possible for her, to stay out of sight.

"And besides," I turned towards Stamford again, who glanced curiously at Harriet's face, "it would have been nonsensical not to do so, considering that we have the exact same way."

When Stamford, who had obviously not understood my hint, finally became aware of my companion's condition his eyes went wide and questioningly he glanced from my wife's swollen middle over to me, his eyebrows raising higher up to his hairline with each passing second. The unasked question was an obvious one.

"What?" I couldn't help asking after a while in which no-one had said a word.

"Nothing..." the poor doctor stammered.

"Nothing? You look surprised. Didn't Watson tell you that Doctor Stephens is a lady?"

"He did. He just didn't mention that..."

"That she is married?" I asked innocently.

"She is?"

"Of course I am," Harriet smiled warmly, and reaching out her right hand, while the left subconsciously caressed her stomach, added: "Pleased to meet you, Doctor Stamford. I have heard much of you."

Stamford's relief was almost palpable. A child out of wedlock was still a woman's ruin and completely unacceptable in society.

"Had I known, I would have invited your husband, of course..."

"He will be glad to know it, I am sure," I replied dryly before Harriet could answer that her husband was actually present.

The result was my wife's elbow connecting spontaneously and none too gently with my ribcage. Obviously soon enough I would have to reveal what was going on, but for the moment I was perfectly happy to leave my acquaintance in the dark just a little longer. It served the meddling man quite right.

"So, I am very curious about your children, Doctor Stamford," Harriet at least steered the conversation in another direction and looking thankful our host led us into the house.

"Are you sure you want to bother looking into our curious little 'mystery'?"

"Yes, I am. Cases like these are rare but not unheard of and I have several questions as it is."

"Very good."

At the top of the stairs I could make out a curious little face framed by pigtails that peeked around the bannister and the repressed giggles gave away the fact that there was yet another sibling hiding in the recesses somewhere.

"Hester! Rebecca! What did I tell you?" the voice of a woman sounded from above.

"The nursemaid has her hands full it seems."

"You have no idea, Holmes," Stamford sighed, taking our coats.

"I might have an inkling. After all, I once was a nipper."

"What, you? Really?" Stamford laughed.

"Yes, and believe me when I say that my father was immensely glad I came as one, not two."

"That I do in an instant. So, Doctor Stephens, would you prefer to sit down first or go up straight away?"

"Oh, I've been sitting in the carriage for long enough, so perhaps in order to not disrupt the evening later on, unless dinner is about to be served, of course, I think now might be as good a time as any to go upstairs."

How my wife was able to construct sentences like that without them losing sense was a mystery I had not yet been able to solve and presumably never would.

We went into the living room where Watson and his wife sat alongside a pretty plump-looking lady who could be no other than our old friend's wife. Next to the fireplace stood a young, bespectacled, red-haired man with a polite but stony expression, indicating that he felt slightly out of place at this meeting of old friends.

Meeting Henry Bertram was certainly the last thing I had expected. The world could be surprisingly small and London was but a village on occasion. There was always someone one had met or who knew someone who knew a common acquaintance no matter where one went, I knew that from experience.

"The Watsons you obviously know, Holmes. Doctor Stephens, this is Mrs Watson."

"Yes, we know each other as well," Harriet smiled, bending down as best she could to embrace her friend.

"Ah, well. This lady is my lovely wife, Agatha, who will show you upstairs in a moment. - And this young gentleman is my dresser at present. A brilliant young man who seemed so very interested in learning more about pathology after an adventure he had a couple of years back. So, I thought I'd invite him along. Mr Bertram – Mr Sherlock Holmes and Mrs... ? - Doctor Stephens."

Looking at me curiously, Bertram bowed slightly before politely saying: "I am very sorry to impose on you... - I was not aware who would be coming, but I am glad to have met you, Mr Holmes. I have, of course heard much of you, but was led to believe that I was to meet a specialist in forensic medicine and indeed, I have found an interest in the field after I got involved in a little mystery of my own."

"It is an interesting field once one gets over the initial disgust. Has the mystery been solved?" Harriet smiled.

Even though she only helped out at the coroner's office, my wife could actually count as something as a specialist – certainly more so than Watson or Stamford, though the latter obviously didn't know that and had naturally been speaking of me.

"Initial disgust is the right word, I have to admit, I fainted at the sight of the body then, and it certainly is nothing to describe before any lady. But yes, the mystery has been solved, Doctor Stephens."

"And how is your sister, Mr Bertram? I trust she is fully recovered from her adventure?" I inquired, remembering the young girl that had been hiding as a boy in an Italian monastery.

Though he looked confused at my knowledge he replied instantly that his sister Mary was indeed well.

"I am glad to hear it."

"Oh, that sounds intriguing. You never mentioned you had been involved in a criminal investigation," our hostess cried out looking at the young, blushing man and giving away at the same time that young Henry Bertram was frequently invited to come round.

"It is nothing and was certainly not fit to speak about over dinner. And at any rate, without help I would not have gotten anywhere at all. I have to say, I would have been glad, had I had the chance to ask for your assistance, Mr Holmes, but..."

"I was presumed to be dead then."

Bertram nodded solemnly. It was I who had told him of my own demise at the time. It had been one of the oddest situations I had ever been in and in my case that had to say something. Emotionally trying didn't even scratch the surface of those first few months after the Reichenbach-incident.

"Yes. I was lucky to meet a fellow country man who was willing to help me," Bertram carried on, without putting two and two together.

"Then you were very lucky," Watson remarked.

"Yes, I will be forever grateful towards Mr Sigerson."

xxx

Harriet:

As soon as the words had been spoken, my jaw dropped and so did the Watsons'.

"Since you have something to talk about then," Mrs Stamford said, as she stood, "I think we can just go upstairs quickly, Doctor Stephens. - Unless, of course, you would like to listen as well."

Since I had every chance in the world to ask 'Mr Hendrik Sigerson' himself, I smiled and followed the mistress of the house upstairs. Besides, by the time we had finished our meal, the children would presumably be in bed and fast asleep.

The smallest Stamfords actually were peacefully slumbering in their cradles, two healthy looking boys with rosy cheeks and pouty mouths.

"Ah, not long and you will hold one of these little angels," Mrs Stamford smiled, caressing one of her two young son's cheeks while looking at my ever-growing bump.

"It is still a couple of months of, but yes."

There was little need to ask whether the boys were fraternal twins or not. They looked completely different even as young as they were.

The oldest set of twins, the two girls that had been lurking in the upstairs corridor as we arrived, also looked not much alike. One had dark hair, the other was fair, one had freckles, the other hadn't, one nose was completely straight, the other curved up a little. Nothing more than the usual resemblances between siblings and that the middle set had to be fraternal twins was obvious since it was a boy and a girl. All six, Hester, Rebecca, Alexandra, Jonathan, Charles and Edward were fraternal twins, just as I had expected.

"Have there been many sets of twins in your family?"

"Yes, a couple. I am a twin myself, though my sister doesn't look much like me, and my grandmother was a twin as well."

"Has your sister any twins?"

"She doesn't have any children. So, is it puzzling enough?"

"Not at all. There is a condition that seems hereditary on the maternal line, where the women seem to be prone to have twins – fraternal ones, never identical, just as in your case."

"Is it dangerous?"

I replied that it was not and that under normal circumstances only one egg each month would be produced by the ovaries ready for conception, while with her condition both of them produced one egg each leading to multiple pregnancies. Considering that there were descriptions of this phenomenon I was fairly surprised that Doctor Stamford as a medical man didn't know anything about it until it occurred to me that he might have just used his children to get me to accept the invitation.

So, I hope you liked the first part so far, even though nothing much has as yet happened. if you wonder who Henry Bertram is, he's, aside from Holmes/Sigerson, the main character in 'In the care of a lady' ;)