Prompt: Watson and Mary's honeymoon goes awry.
From: Hades Lord of the Dead
A/N: I did some research for the Victorian honeymoon. Turns out only the best man knew where the wedded couple were going, and he had to be sworn to secrecy 😉 So, Holmes would be the only man who knows where his Boswell is during his honeymoon with Mary
...
"Here you are, my love." I offer a hand to my new wife to help her down the ship's ramp.
"Oh, thank you, John!" Mary smiles at me, her white teeth sparkling in the Venetian sunshine.
Mary and I had just been joined in matrimony, and as soon as our society's etiquette allowed, we caught a train to the harbour to sail away to Venice and experience the city of canals.
"Oh, John, it's beautiful!" She breathes, as we gaze over beautiful white houses gleaming in the sunshine, and glittering canals winding amidst the streets, with gondolas of red and green afloat on these canals.
"Yes, it is," I reply, reaching her cheek with my hand and caressing it tenderly. "And I am most fortunate to be here with you."
Mary gives me a smile filled with warmth and love. "As am I, darling." She replies.
"Now, let's find our accommodation, and we could explore afterwards." I suggest.
"Splendid idea." Mary says, her eyes sparkling brightly, reminding me of those pearls of Agra which brought the two of us together into our courtship and eventual matrimony.
...
Alas, I do regret suggesting it- for when the two of us arrive at our hotel room at the Hotel Danieli, we find we are a suitcase short- and the contents in question belong to me. What is even worse, much to my dismay, that one has my medical supplies for the trip, should anything go wrong whilst we were travelling or in Venice itself.
"Are you sure we had all of them when we left, John?" Mary asks me, quietly, as I pace around the room- akin to what Holmes had done in my former lodgings with him in 221B Baker Street.
"I could have sworn I never left any of our suitcases anywhere, darling." I answer in concern, unwilling to admit my medical supplies are now missing. "I'm sure Holmes gave me- Holmes!" I growl suddenly in realisation.
"John?"
"What if Holmes stole our luggage so he could pester me on our honeymoon?"
"Now, that's being unfair, my love. I'm sure he didn't mean to." Mary answers, taking hold of my shoulders and massaging them gently. "He's a man of odd habits, but he is a gentleman as much as you are, John."
"You're right, Mary," I sigh, and allow myself to relax under her caress. "Holmes wouldn't aggravate me on purpose like this- especially since we just got married. Now, shall we go out for a while?" I offer, to change the subject.
I have no desire to think about Holmes at present; not when I am with my new wife on our honeymoon.
...
To forget about the lost suitcase and relax, we decide to visit the oldest café in history, according to our tour guide, Pino Gratellino.
"It is-a been around-a since 1720!" He tells us proudly, as we head along to our destination. As we walk, I feel Mary take my hand in her own; I allow my fingers to clasp round hers in return, and we smile as though we had first met, allowing Gratellino's ramblings to fade into the background.
...
The café is a splendid building of opulence- Mary and I brush past white curtains of the softest fabric and sit down at a small white table with the softest red chairs I had ever recalled sitting on.
They are much more comfortable than the mess halls of Afghanistan, that is certain.
"Oh, isn't this place wonderful?" Mary asks me in delight as Pino goes off to talk with a friend of his- a young waiter no older than 23.
"It is certainly different from Simpsons." I answer, before realising I had been thinking about Holmes again.
"Well, I do like it so," Replies Mary. "But I wouldn't want to live in such luxury all the time, John." She takes my hand in her own in squeezes it knowingly. I smile back at her.
That is something I have always loved about my Mary- she is a woman who wants a simple but comfortable living means. When we first met during the events of the case I later titled 'The Sign of Four', she had been an heiress to a fortune from her late father, and social etiquette indicated that whilst she stood to claim her inheritance, I could not think to propose to her, take her to be my wife.
It was most fortunate for both of us that that fortune now lies rusting in the Thames, for it meant that I could propose to her without looking like I was after her fortune, and she accepted.
I smile giddily reminiscing these happy events; just as Mary taps my arm. "John? The waiter." She says.
Before me is an ugly specimen of humanity. His wart covered nose is crooked to his upper lip, his hair grey and balding, his eyes shining a dull blue. His attire, however, is immaculate in comparison; black suit with white shirt and a small black bow tie, neatly tied.
"I'm sorry, old man," I apologise. "I"-
"That is quite alright, Doctor," Replies the waiter in a deep, monotone Venetian accent, and I frown at Mary. "How does he know I'm a doctor?"
"I know you are an English army doctor on holiday with your wife, Doctor Watson." The waiter replies, and my blood runs cold with fright and anger at this approach.
Pino and his friend come over to enquire our wellbeing on seeing my shoulders tense up. "Scusami, Medico, is this waiter bothering you?" Pino asks us in concern.
But the second Venetian frowns in a scrutinizing manner at the ugly waiter.
"Waiter? I have worked here for two years, and I have never seen this man in my life until now." The young waiter, Antonio, answers in confusion.
At this, I leap from my chair with such sudden violence that all three men step back. "John, please, don't hurt him!" Mary begs, leaping to her feet.
"Mary, this man knows who I am! He could be a threat to us!" I reply, bending his arm behind his back threateningly. "Alright, who sent you?" I hiss threateningly into his ear "I don't know who you are, but you seem to know more about me than I have disclosed. Tell me all you know, or else."
"I also know you have a loaded revolver in your coat pocket." He continues nonchalantly, without any fear of my- rather pathetic- threat.
Deciding a little 'motivation' is all that was required, I look away from him for a few moments to fish it out. Smirking, I pull my ever-present revolver out of my pocket with triumph-
And standing in front of me-instead of the Venetian waiter- was the face of my friend, Sherlock Holmes.
...
"What the- how the devil did you get here, Holmes?!" I fume, quickly lowering my revolver. As my best man, he knew exactly where I was bound for my honeymoon- but how did he follow us without my knowledge?
"I came the same way you did, dear boy," He answers cheerfully, oblivious to my anger.
"John, please, don't strike him." Mary tells me
"I thought I would tag along, Watson, because you left this at Baker Street when you went to your wedding." Holmes fishes out a small, battered and black suitcase from his person and hands it to me. "I see you have had no need of it, which is a relief."
"No need of it... John, you didn't!" Mary says disappointedly.
"Yes, I left my medical supplies at 221B." I sigh. "Oh, and I was going to break your arm off, Holmes!" I add in despair. I look up at his gaunt face, and I feel my heart soften. ""Thank you, Holmes." I finish, with no small amount of relief and gratitude for my friend's defiance of our social customs for our sakes.
"Yes, thank you, Mr. Holmes." Mary adds sweetly, smiling at him. "Why don't you join us for afternoon tea, as a thank you?"
"Yes. I do feel awful for wasting your time on my behalf." I add.
Holmes wavers, uncertain. His fidgeting and doubt makes him much younger and more vulnerable. I rarely witnessed such moments from my friend, and I could tell whether to laugh in mirth or take his hand.
In the end, Mary and I both persuade the consulting detective to sit, and on Mary inquiring whether he was working on any new cases, he excitedly plunges into a narrative on a case involving an insomniac cleric, an anonymous letter and a missing emerald necklace.