A Broken Engagement, Chapter 2.
Eight years later…
The passing of eight years brings change to us all, and to the Holmeses in particular. The financial ruin which had threatened was now present. Even Mycroft's machinations had not been able to stave off the consequences of their father's reckless habits and their mother's inability to restrain him. Unfortunately, the rich marriage partner for either Sherlock or Mycroft had never appeared. There had been a few suitors over the years, but in the end all had been frightened off by Sherlock's acid tongue and cold demeanor.
There was no alternative. They would have to rent out Sherrinford Hall and find themselves cheaper accommodation elsewhere. A dispute arose over where to go, as Lady Holmes wished to remain in the local area where her friends and social connections were. However, their father and Mycroft quietly agreed that it would be unpleasant to continue to live in the same social circles in their reduced circumstances and possibly even have to take notice of their own tenants. No, unbearable. They must relocate.
The next question was, to where? London was impossible – it was more expensive to live in town than in their own house. Another country residence? Difficult to find one of suitable importance for their father and also of rental terms to suit Mycroft's prudence. Sherlock had no opinion. He could be equally bored and miserable anywhere. His increasingly worrying laudanum* habit meant that he often had no opinion on anything.
In the end they settled on Bath. The seaside town was large enough to give them some acquaintance but not so large as to require them to do much entertaining. Perfect. Mycroft and his mother oversaw the packing of their personal items. Sherlock was completely useless, of course, so the decision was made to send him to stay with some friends a bit further off in the country, the Lestrade family. Gregory Lestrade was the closest Sherlock had to a friend, and Mycroft hoped against hope that Greg might be able to shake Sherlock out of his apathy towards life.
Mycroft also hoped that their removal would be swift enough to avoid the humiliation of meeting their tenants. To his disappointment, this proved impossible. It was necessary that they meet with Admiral Harry Watson and her wife Clara for the signing of documents and the handing over of the keys to Sherrinford Hall.
The meeting went more smoothly than anyone had expected. Admiral Watson was a sensible woman, and her wife Clara simply charming. They were all more pleased with the acquaintance than any had expected, and even made talk of meeting up again in Bath, as the Watsons planned to visit there later in the year. The Holmes family departed, satisfied that their erstwhile home was in, if not hands as good as their own, hands which were acceptably competent.
..oOo..
Sherlock arrived at the home of Gregory Lestrade in his usual black mood. He passed the usual commentary on the weather, wished Greg's wife and two small boys the appropriate greetings for the season, then proceeded to ignore them all.
On the third morning of Sherlock's lying on their sofa, Greg finally induced him to take a walk. "Sherlock, at least come and meet our near neighbours. We often go shooting together or walking together, and I think you will find the daughters of the house very pleasant company indeed." He winked at Sherlock, "Maybe more than pleasant company, if you know what I mean."
Sherlock sniffed with disdain. There were no families of wealth or title in the area, and if he had not been allowed to marry poverty to follow his heart he certainly would not marry poverty without affection.
Greg rolled his eyes, "Oh, don't be like that. Mary and Elizabeth are lovely girls, and their brother Charles is a very good shot and good company. At least let me introduce you."
Finally Sherlock agreed, and later that morning found himself at Morstan House, shaking hands with Charles Morstan and his sisters Elizabeth and Mary Morstan. Sherlock agreed with Greg, that they were all good company – handsome, insipid and utterly boring.
He let the conversation drift along without his participation, until a name caught his ear. Mary was speaking to Greg. "Oh, but you simply must come to dinner tomorrow night! Charles has made the most interesting new acquaintance – a Captain John Watson, of the Laconia. I gather he is also related to the current tenants of Sherrinford Hall, a younger brother of the admiral, I believe." She nodded respectfully towards Sherlock, who pretended to ignore her. But inside his heart was pounding – John? After all these years? Would he still remember Sherlock? Would he still love him? Or would he still hate him?
..oOo..
The next evening Sherlock and the Lestrades made their way to Morstan House for the formal dinner. When they arrived the Morstans were in the drawing room with Captain Watson. Mary and Elizabeth were poring over the Navy List, looking for Captain Watson's first command, the Asp. Mrs. Morstan came over with Captain Watson from the tea table to make the introductions. For the first time in eight years, Sherlock and John stood face to face. Eight years is a long time, but to those with strong feelings, eight years may be little more than nothing.
John spoke first, in a soft but clear voice, raising his chin slightly. "No need for introductions, my dear Mrs Morstan. Mr Holmes and I are old acquaintances." Was there a slight stress on the last word? John took a moment to look Sherlock up and down. "Although Mr Holmes, you are so altered if I had met you on the street I am not sure I would have known you again." Then he turned away.
Sherlock was stricken. Not known him again? John might as well have said aloud that the man he had once loved was gone forever. Sherlock had broken their engagement, deserted and disappointed him. Then he had drowned himself in the laudanum bottle, emerging a skeletal wreck of the man he had been in his youth. Little wonder John was no longer attracted to him!
Sherlock wished his famous acid tongue would come to his rescue, but he could not think of a single vengeful word to say in return about John. He was the same man he had been eight years ago only more tanned, more confident and in all respects more desirable. Even worse, he was now looking down at Mary Morstan with a glowing, admiring look as she turned the pages of the book in her lap. It was over. His charm over John was gone forever. They were strangers. Worse than strangers, for after what had passed between them they could never become friends.
The company made their way into the dining room, where it appeared the torture was due to continue. Sherlock, as the son of a baronet, took precedence over everyone in the room and was seated at Mrs Morstan's right hand. John as a Navy Captain was next in social rank, and was seated at her left, directly opposite Sherlock. Mary, the oldest of Mrs Morstan's three children was beside John and clearly hanging on his every word.
Even before the white soup was served Mary asked John, "So, now that you are 'paid off' as they say, are you looking to settle down?" She gave him an arch smile.
He returned the smile with a warm one of his own. "Indeed. I am ready to fall in love with all the speed a clear head and a quick taste will allow. Anyone between the ages of… nineteen and thirty can have me for the asking." He gave her a saucy wink. "A little beauty, a few smiles and some compliments to the Navy, and I am a lost man. After all, I am merely a common sailor and should not expect too much, should I now?" He did not catch Sherlock's eye with his last pointed remark, but his implication was obvious.
Mary's protests that John was deserving of the very best and should not settle for anyone inferior were completely lost on both John and Sherlock. They were staring at each other across the table and after John's little speech it was difficult to know who was in more agony of mind.
By the time Sherlock recovered enough to pay attention once again to the conversation, he wished he had stayed oblivious a little longer. Mary was quizzing John on the origin and history of the ring he wore on the little finger of his right hand. John laughed and held it up to the light.
"I bought it as a little souvenir of my travels in the East Indies. The seller told me it matched… my eyes." The hesitation would not have been noticeable to anyone who knew John less well than Sherlock. John then lowered his voice to a pseudo-confidential whisper, "I bought it, but I don't really think it matches my eyes, do you?" Mary eagerly accepted the opportunity to stare directly into John's eyes and pretended to compare their colour to the stone of the ring.
After much too long spent staring at John from far too close quarters, Mary finally announced that the ring was rather too green and a touch too light in colour to be a good match for John's dark blue eyes. John looked away and changed the subject.
After dinner the young Morstans proposed a little dance, just among the friends present, and of course Sherlock was pressed to play for them. He speedily agreed, as he would much rather be lost in the mathematical progressions of the music than be forced to stand up and make polite conversation with one dance partner after another.
The Morstans danced about most cheerfully and were all lively and charming. By the end of the evening it was clear that both Mary and Elizabeth felt Captain Watson was likely to become the property of one or the other of them, and only their strong sisterly affection prevented their rivalry from becoming openly contested.
Sherlock played until his fingers ached, and wished that pain could overpower the ache in his heart. John danced lightly, beautifully and conversed easily with everyone in the room. Everyone except for Sherlock. He heard his own name mentioned by John exactly once, when John asked Mrs Lestrade if Sherlock never danced? Mrs Lestrade replied carelessly that she had never seen Sherlock dance, that to her knowledge he had never expressed a desire to do so.
At the end of that air, they had stopped close by the piano where Sherlock was sitting as he stretched out his hands and wrists before beginning another piece. John looked over and courteously thanked Sherlock for his efforts which made possible their enjoyment. Sherlock replied quietly that it was no trouble, that he would much rather play than dance. Then they were gone again, back into the swirl of dancers.
Sherlock's stoic mask of indifference had never served him better, and fortunately he did not need to see the written music to be able to play. If his eyes were filled with tears there was no-one to notice. John certainly never looked at Sherlock again, and Sherlock could not bring himself to wish for John's attention. His cold courtesy and formal politeness contrasted so dreadfully with his previous warmth and familiarity that Sherlock could only wish the whole evening were over. He could not endure the torment of having John in the same room and Sherlock with his heart still yearning after him the same, but John so different.
Unfortunately for Sherlock, the agony of the evening was not yet over when they returned home. Greg and Mrs Lestrade had to discuss the evening and exchange opinions over whether Captain Watson preferred Mary or Elizabeth. Greg favoured Elizabeth, as being the prettier of the two sisters. Mrs Lestrade thought Mary more likely, as the oldest sister and with the most lively manners. Sherlock himself was unsure – once, he would have known immediately what John preferred but now?
Greg laughed at his wife. "Did you not hear him speak about his service? He must have made at least twenty thousand pounds in the war! He does not need to marry the heiress – he has enough money to marry where he chooses and even a titled family would be glad to have him marry one of their younger children, at least. Titled families always need money, you know." He chuckled, then abruptly stopped himself and glanced apologetically towards Sherlock.
Sherlock rose with quiet dignity. "I think I shall bid you good night and retire." If they thought he was offended on the basis of their remarks about his family, that was all the better. Anything was better than for them to realize the true state of his internal despair regarding Captain Watson. His John. Only ever to be called that in his thoughts now.
*Laudanum was a blend of opium and alcohol. Cocaine was not isolated until the latter half of the nineteenth century, so in this AU Sherlock cannot be the cocaine user we all know and love!