Prompt: Even Mary Watson has limits to her patience with Sherlock Holmes, especially when he brings her husband home injured. (YoughaltheJust)
I confess I didn't quite keep to the prompt, but I've been looking forward to showing what Mary is up to.
Holmes and I hastily stumbled to our feet and endeavoured to back away from the sheep which had encircled us in their apparent curiosity. The cat that had been our guide slipped away between their hooves, where we could not follow.
I glanced at Holmes, the sudden strike which had left him so badly bruised at the fore of my mind, and he likewise seemed to be hesitant to confront the otherwise docile, large, fluffy creatures.
Our standoff was interrupted by a familiar voice calling across the pastures, "There you are! I was wondering where you'd slipped off to!"
The sheep scattered as Inspector Lestrade approached without our hard-learned caution.
"You are a sight for sore eyes, Inspector," Holmes said, when it was at last safe to approach, and I followed after him to meet the inspector.
"What happened to you? You and the doctor both look like you've been digging in the mud."
"I fear it is a tale worthy of Watson's annals," Holmes said, with a spark of humour across his features, "but there were some particular points of interest, which I believe would be best told over luncheon at the inn, if you would be amenable, Watson?"
"Certainly," I said with some enthusiasm, weary from the morning's labours.
Holmes appeared to be of a similar mind, for we did not delay in our return to the inn. When we arrived it was mercifully near empty. I would not have noticed the lone woman sitting in the parlour had she not put her book aside at our entrance and stood to greet us.
"Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson."
I startled at the familiar voice.
Holmes too betrayed some surprise, but he is never caught off guard for long and swiftly replied, "Mrs. Watson."
Inspector Lestrade doffed his hat to her.
"You look well," I managed—what else could I say to my lawfully wedded wife whom I had not seen in months, who had graciously not sued for divorce despite due cause, which would have had me sentenced to hard labour for gross indecency? "What brings you here?"
It is to her immense credit as a gentlewoman that she merely smiled at my fumbling and said, "Plainly nothing nearly so exciting as you and Mr. Holmes. There is a bakery in town of which I am particularly fond. I sent some of their mincemeat pies to Mrs. Hudson, but I learned they had become waylaid, so I have come to replace them."
Holmes, unflappable as ever, gave a barking laugh. "That is the answer to one little mystery, eh Watson? We must apologise, Mrs. Watson, for it is on our account that the mincemeat pies did not reach their intended recipient. If you will allow me to replace what has been lost?"
"The note I sent with them must have been mislaid on the journey, so you and Dr. Watson are hardly to blame, but you are very generous, Mr. Holmes. But do not allow me to detain you." She sat back down as we made to pass through the parlour, but spared us one final glance with a pointed, "Do take care."