(A/N Wasn't all that happy with the details of this chapter so revamped it. Chapter 4 will also be looked at! Chapter 5 won't arrive until December, though. Unless I finish Nanowrimo early. Hope you enjoy this fixed chapter better!)

Quite Contrary:

One year after "The Fall" as he'd come to think of it as, John Watson was fully endorsed as a Consulting Detective. He even had business cards and regular visits to his flat by clients. The job at the surgery he'd kept for a time, but this business had picked up after he'd made a few key deductions in some of Lestrade's cases and made it in the paper. And, of course, calling himself a consulting detective over private investigator helped his cause. Perhaps he should feel guilty over stealing the title, but Sherlock had thrust it upon him anyway. Well, Sherlock had never called John such, but hadn't he been at Sherlock's side during most of the cases?

Currently, he was sitting in the oversized chair Sherlock had used while a new client sat before him in his old chair. John kept the Union Jack pillow with him though, resting his lower back against it. He had tea in one hand, the other cupped under it keeping his hands warm. He looked across the way at the crying woman, delicate, dabbing at her face with tissues. She'd grabbed them from the little table next to the chair, and felt sorry for her.

At least he knew he hadn't become a sociopath.

"I'm sorry, Mary was it?" John leaned forward in the chair, closer to her.

She nodded, sniffled. "Yes, Mary Morstan." She dabbed her eyes again, a little mascara smudging beneath her eye.

He offered her a sympathetic smile. "I can help you but only if you trust me. I understand your, uh, reluctance with this but I really am discreet. I have no reason to go against you."

Mary nodded and actually gave him a smile. "Of course, you're right Dr. Watson. Forgive me; this matter just has me frightened." She wiped her nose one last time and crumpled the tissue in one hand looking about briefly as if unsure of what to do with it.

John got to his feet and strolled to the long couch where a small rubbish bin sat. Picking it up, he carried it back and offered it to her. "Please, you can call me John." When the tissue found its way in the basket, he put it aside but still close enough to her chair were she to need it again. "Now, who are you afraid of?" He sank back in the chair and knew he'd caught on to something by the widening of her eyes.

"How did you… I didn't mention I was afraid of someone." She hiccupped a breath but sat up taller. The dress she wore was tight, but covered much of her and John could only imagine it was slightly restricting, pushing her towards better posture. The deep blue of it brought out the red around her crying eyes, the flushed color across her impossibly high cheekbones.

"How could I assume any differently? You're obviously terrified to mention a name." He looked at her with a thoughtful frown. "You're very well spoken, and well dressed, so you must know some people in very high positions. I would say you should go to them, but since you haven't I can only guess that whomever you're afraid of has connections where you would have gone looking for help." The white and black stripped long sleeve he had on was a bit warm in the confines of this room so he rolled the sleeves up on it and continued. "So, who are you running from Mary?"

"I'm not sure." Her bottom lip trembled. The quick breath in made her hollow cheeks stand out pale in the shadowing. A stray hair fell from the bun her hair was in and curled about her long chin, black and curled. She was exotically beautiful. It was her eyes that most enraptured John though. They stood out grey, almost shinning with the tears, and bright. "I am the heir to my father's significant fortune and he passed away three months ago. His will was just released, naming me the sole heir. Along with it came this…" She paused and reached into her purse, pulling out a piece of folded paper.

John was fascinated by her mannerism, by the elegant way she spoke. She came from a lot of money, he knew that much without knowing what the business was that her family owned. Everything about her screamed upper class. He admitted only to himself that he was immediately and irrevocably attracted to this woman, though he doubted she would have anything to do with some nouveau riche working bloke like himself. Hell, despite the money he'd gotten from Sherlock, John had stayed in the flat and the only thing he spent a significant amount of money on was science experiments. He didn't look any different, he just happened to be able to afford this place on his own and get takeaway more often than before. That did mean less rows with the chip and pin machine.

Leaning across the way between them, he took the proffered piece of paper and read it. It was clearly addressed to her and written in a very practiced hand. "A threat on your life for the contents of the will? Right," John said. "Well I think that accusation would have to be looked into. Is that what you're coming here for?" He pushed to the conclusion and watched her face carefully.

"Yes. I mean no. Well, I'm not sure. I wanted protection really. And proof of what they're doing. Do you know what it's like to walk around looking over your shoulder every day?" She sniffled a little and John thought she might start crying again. He disliked that; wasn't ever sure what to do about it. "It's petrifying."

He nodded. "Yeah, I know the feeling." He smiled tightly as images from Afghanistan came tumbling back into his mind. "Why not go to Scotland Yard for help?"

"Well, because I've heard you're the best."

"Second best, really."

"Pardon?" She asked leaning forward again.

John cleared his throat. "Second best, in my opinion, but unfortunately the first committed suicide."

"Oh, right. Sherlock Holmes, wasn't it?" Mary nodded to her own question and folded her hands in her lap. "Well, then you're the best still living. I'd read about your cases, about what you could do, and I heard you used to be in the army so… it just makes sense, doesn't it?"

John chewed the inside of his cheek a moment then gave in with a nod. "S'pose so yes. Do you have a safe place to stay?"

Mary nodded her head and blushed. "I've been hoping from hotel to hotel. It's been safe enough."

"No." John shook his head and pushed himself up from the chair. "Let's get your stuff. I have an extra room here I can clean up for you while we work this out. If they decide to come after you then a hotel staff won't be able to keep you safe, now will they?"

Standing with him, Mary looked about. "And a bachelor's flat is safe?" Her voice was teasing.

Picking up on the tone, John smiled and patted his lower back. "When the bachelor carries a gun, yes it's very safe."

"I don't want anything…" Mary wrinkled her nose and slipped an arm through John's elbow so he could walk her back down the stairs and to a cab. "Nothing indecent, you hear?"

He gave her his biggest meaningful grin. "Of course not. Strictly business."

"Thank you, John Watson."

It took only a few days for John and Mary to fall into a routine. The flat was the cleanest it had been in… ever, really. John had never actually seen it this clean. It was amazing how much room there could be when you picked up the books and science journals from the floor and got them onto shelves. The experiments scattered about were slowly compressed to John's room upstairs, which looked more like a lab with a bed and chiffonier.

Last night the two of them had actually been able to sit down at the dining table together.

Music once again took its place in the flat as well. Mary was fond of putting in earbuds and singing to her iPod as she dusted or hoovered. She hummed along when she read. It actually put John at some ease while he worked on the case.

Currently he sat with his laptop open, some files spread across the coffee table, and had a cup of tea at his right hand. It was still steaming when he put it to his lips and he sputtered it a little. "Damn it," he grumbled and set it aside licking his scalded lips.

"Are you alright, John?" Mary piped up, poking her head around the corner from the kitchen and peering in at him.

"Fine, tea was hot." He sunk further down in the couch and typed away at science of deduction. Not much progress had been made on the case as there wasn't a scene and nothing had yet been attempted. Soon, the only thing John would be able to suggest would be to lure them out and get them to make a move.

He glanced up when he heard Mary moving about. She was coming over with the container of milk and he continued to watch as she dribbled a little into his cup, instantly cooling the contents.

"Thank you." His dull hazel-gold eyes peered up at her. Each little movement of hers seemed perfect.

Mary smiled down at him. "You're welcome." Her lips were amazingly bowed in their smile, and it put happy crinkles in the corners of her eyes. Today, her near black hair was down in loose curls around her shoulders, bangs cutting across to one side. Her skin looked impossibly beautifully pale with it down like that.

John had to resist the urge to reach out and touch her cheek, to see if it felt as soft as it looked. Instead, he took the tea cup back into those would-be-wandering hands and sipped at the contents. "I think there's a possibility that family could be involved, but I need more data before we make any sort of move."

Mary peered at John and nodded. "Alright, and thank you again for all of this. You've been wonderful about it."

John smiled, "Well, I wouldn't get too happy about things just yet. I have to ask, is there anyone in the family you can think of that would do something against you for the money, properties, and businesses?"

She took a seat and seemed to be thinking rather hard about this. She sighed, brushing her swooping bangs back from her face. "I don't know. I suppose an uncle, my father's brother. He and his sons were expecting to inherit quite a bit of the company…"

"Mary, would you care to have dinner with me?" John asked out of nowhere. He even surprised himself by asking and held his breath immediately after.

"I would like that very much, Dr. Watson." Mary didn't seem so surprised. She got up and headed for her room, Sherlock's old room. "I'll just get ready and we can talk more about theories at the restaurant?"

"Perfect, yeah."

He walked into the hall where the stairwell to his own room was and paused. He could hear movement down the hall, could hear Mary shuffling through clothing. He imagined her slipping out of the summer dress she had been wearing, the fabric dripping off her slender shoulders and cascading to her delicate feet in a pool of cloth. Her shoulders would be arched backward, pressing in towards one another and it would make her lower back arch as well, presenting a silk clad bottom. Mary Morstan had worn jeans just once in the few days John had come to know her, and he had unabashedly checked out the tight rear end in them. He'd done so without her knowledge of course. He wasn't so crude as to openly jeer at a woman. That would be rude.

Shaking the thoughts from his head as his own jeans were becoming quite tight in a very particular area, John headed up his stairs. He thought he might grab a shower before going as he'd been laying about the flat all day.

Stripping in the bathroom, before the mirror, John took a good look at himself. He had thinned out since The Fall. And since taking on further cases, he'd gotten into the occasional rugby game again. There was a league he joined, some old University boys, and it kept him in pretty fair shape. He was still "soft", in places, particularly about the hips and stomach. His hair was still that odd color someone had once described to him as 'dishwater', but it was all fine with him. It suited him, he thought. His chest had just the lightest dusting of blonde hair, and a trail of it went from his navel to beneath his pant line. His legs were thick from sports and had the same light blonde hairs. Overall, John thought he would have no qualms with getting naked in front of a lover. Even Mary Morstan. He tried to push her from his mind again, but found it painstakingly difficult to do so. This must have been what Sherlock felt like when he was trying to get his mind straight and would throw himself into his violin or over the microscope and not speak for days on end.

The warm water of the shower released some of John's tension but he still had to have a good wank in there to calm his brain down enough to think straight.

That was all ruined when he came down in a nice pair of slacks and a new gray jumper to spot Mary, powdered and dressed for a night out. She was in a shorter, blood red dress. The color of blood after it had reached oxygen and was sitting in a little bubble on the skin, drying there. Her shoes were black, high, putting her at his height, or just a touch over. Her dark hair was pulled up in a tall ponytail, curls touching the base of her skull, and bangs swooping over her brows accenting those deliciously shiny gray eyes. The lipstick is where John got stuck staring. It was a standout red. Much more vibrant than her dress. It sat there, begging to be looked at, to be kissed, and John almost lost it right there.

"You um, you look very nice." He managed with some difficulty to compliment her, but she didn't seem to notice his trip up.

"Thank you." She waited a moment and John blinked rapidly then stuck out his elbow, which she promptly took. "So where are you taking me, Dr. Watson?"

"Please, it's just…John. And I have a nice place just down the road a ways. Angelo's. Makes the best pasta. I've eaten there a lot, especially after cases, or during."

Mary nodded and followed him, relying completely on his seeming expertise.