Disclaimer: I don't own "Sherlock Holmes" or any of its characters. That all belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Guy Ritchie, etc.
Inspired by: "I Stand" by Idina Menzel.
June 8th, 1891
The trial of St. James vs. Donaldson would end up being a blur in Madeline's memory. The day started out well enough, bright and sunny for once in the city. She vaguely remembered being pulled out of bed by Sherlock, forced into the best dress that Mary and Mrs. Hudson could find, and then assisted down the stairs by Watson…all before someone finally mentioned the reason why. She'd forgotten it was the eighth of June, as her lawyer had droned on and on about the court date the day after Millie's arrest. During the man's lackluster mutterings, she found Holmes' attempts at scaling the building just beyond her window to be more entertaining. Mildly he advised her to be honest with her statements, and then he left, just in time for the detective to crash through the half-opened window and drop unceremoniously into the flat.
And here she was now, cramped in a carriage with the good doctor and Sherlock and galloping off to the trial.
"I'd much rather not be in the same room as that…woman again," Madeline replied sullenly, leaning against the coach's seat uncomfortably. A gnawing of fear began in her stomach as she thought more on it. "Lord, Millie wouldn't attack me in the courtroom, would she?"
"Of course she wouldn't," Watson supplied quickly, poking Holmes to make him pay attention to the conversation.
Brushing his companion off, the detective sighed, "At the very least she wouldn't be able to do much. It's highly unlikely that she has any allies sneaking her weaponry into the prison."
Madeline chuckled. "That's certainly true."
"I find it quite curious that the widow of a barrister would not know what a prisoner could and could not do in a courtroom," he goaded her, crossing his arms and cocking his head to the left. She half shrugged in response.
"I'm a little rusty on the protocol, since I haven't gone into a courtroom ever and my husband had learned in the first year of our marriage that proceedings of the law went completely over my head," she commented lightly. "I'll admit it, had I paid more attention to his ramblings I wouldn't ask foolish questions…but then again, it would not have been worth the time figuring who inquires or cross-questions first."
Holmes rubbed his eyes. "Yes, I suppose English litigation has no place in between thoughts on 'The Three Musketeers' and Poe's ghastly writings."
"Just because you don't like Dupin…"
"The man is an utter imbecile!"
"Not to mention, fictional."
John groaned, "Not another one…"
The duo stopped and turned to look at him curiously.
"Not another what, Watson?" Holmes asked, quirking up an eyebrow.
"Well, I was hoping to go an entire carriage ride without another argument between the two of you," he said, his tone harrowed. Madeline tried to force her smile down, but was failing considerably.
"I don't recall us having an argument," she murmured, smoothing down the lap of her dress before glancing at the detective across from her. "Do you, Mr. Holmes?"
"Oh, absolutely not, Mrs. St. James. Watson, I believe you mistook our lively interaction as something more," he interjected, receiving a concurring nod from the lady. The doctor rolled his eyes at them both.
"What's the difference between an argument and a 'lively interaction' with you both?" he wondered.
"Simple," the lady replied. "I hadn't come up with a creative-yet-derogatory nickname for Holmes in the course of the conversation. That's how you can tell."
Sherlock agreed, his face a complete display of seriousness. After a minute of complete silence fell upon the cab, the detective and Madeline launched back into discussion, with him giving her a general outline of how the proceedings would go once the trial commenced. Watching their animated gestures towards one another, Watson leaned back in his seat and allowed himself a small smile. First they despised each other, and now they had conspired against him in a joking manner? Perhaps Holmes had warmed up to her more than he let on.
Well, John certainly wouldn't begrudge either of them the friendship. After all, once they reached the courts, the widow would most definitely need someone to rely on as her deadly case was once again replayed before her eyes. Her female friends (Constance and Julianne, if he remembered their names correctly) were out of the country, but sent their best wishes to her; wishes were scant comfort, he knew that as a personal truth. Her old caretaker was ill with influenza, and therefore could not be there either. So she had only him and Holmes to stand by her.
Or perhaps, by the way her eyes lingered on the detective's face whenever he glanced away, Watson deduced that she really felt she could only fall back on Sherlock alone. All too soon, the cab slowed down, and the door sprang open. The trio all looked at one another, none of them willing to be the first one out.
"So…here we are," Madeline breathed, biting her lip nervously and gripping her hands tightly together.
"And what a place we are at," Holmes wryly spouted, earning a tight-lipped grin from the female companion. She remembered when he first spoke those words, and her hand flew up to her hair subconsciously, its scandalous cut hidden in a borrowed hat. Looking over to Watson, he grandly waved towards the steps beyond the carriage door. "Shall we go, then?"
xXxXxXx
It was a boring affair in the court, with Millie strapped down in a chair separated from the stands and the judge. The testimony she delivered incriminated her the more she went on, despite the defense trying to shush her at regular intervals. She was entirely determined to paint Madeline the cruel mastermind behind her actions, claiming the lady was mad and pulling strings to strike Lawrence from his brother's will. The list went on, but everyone could see the lies for what they were. Lawrence, for his part, was noticeably absent. When he was called forward, a letter he'd sent to the court clearly indicated that he washed his hands of his maid and declared his innocence in the plot.
"'The woman is mad, and acted on her own. I had no notion about her plots, and would never have approved them in any case. There has been too much death and tragedy in both our lives; perpetuating it is not something I would ever do,'" read Madeline's lawyer to the court, going on to say that the page was signed as a witness statement by an Officer Clarke and Inspector Lestrade to ensure its legitimacy.
Millie's lawyer changed tack, and began arguing a plea of insanity, until Sherlock Holmes took the stand and shamed the barrister with his collective knowledge of the evidence. After all, he argued, if insanity was the case, then all people actively participating in pursuits of passion must be mad. The audience attending the trial sniggered, and the maid shot them all a death glare.
"Calling Mrs. Madeline St. James to the stand!" a voice boomed from the front. Painfully, Madeline rose out of her chair, a reassuring pat on the shoulder from Watson comforting her briefly.
Hobbling up the long aisle to the stand was embarrassing. She could feel the pitying stares burning into her skin, the whispers about her still-bandaged arm and leg reaching her ears. The crutch suddenly felt foreign and massive as she kept going, the plaster weighing her down. It made her sick to be such a spectacle, and she lost the courage to continue the last few steps up to the stands.
It didn't help at all that she hadn't associated with hardly anyone in over a month. Her only companions had been a doctor, a dog, and an eccentric detective with a penchant for the strange and fascinating vices of the world. Hardly acceptable in her great aunt's view, she mulled over humorously, even though she was dead and had no say over Madeline's social circle. Was it so bad, to be cooped up in a little array of room with such a strange man? Evidently it was, since she had been so sheltered and unaware of the public's interest in the case. So many Londoners had come to see the trial out of sheer curiosity, to see her, to know who she was.
'Is this all they see me as? That woman who got trampled? The cripple who a victim of a crime of passion? Or maybe I'm just the lady who is trying to ruin a working girl because they think I have nothing better to do. Maybe they believe the drivel that spilled out of Millie's mouth…who am I to them? Who am I anymore?' she thought, attempting to control her breathing.
A low murmuring buzzed as she froze, her blood pounding in her ears and her face flushing. At that moment, Madeline would've given the world to simply melt into the floor and disappear. She was determined to not look helpless and lost before coming into the building, and she had just destroyed those goals all on her own. The leftover stitches on her body itched beneath her dress, and her eyes lost focus.
A hand gently pressed in the small of her back steered her forward, and her crutch, which had clattered to the floor unnoticed, was replaced under her arm.
"You've come this far, no stopping now," crowed the voice of a friend, the aggravating man who had saved her life in more ways than one. Turning her head in the direction of his face, she displayed a wavering grin.
"Thank you, Mr. Holmes," she responded, and in and even quieter voice, she continued, "Really, thank you, my friend."
He nodded, and backed away slowly, resuming his seat next to Watson beyond the first row of attendants. She mounted the stand swiftly after her moment of paralysis, and demurely nodded to the lawyers in greeting. Madeline, after that point, answered all the questions they put forth to the best of her knowledge, but would remember none of it. The trial didn't matter much in the long run; it was the sentencing that would stick out the most in her mind. That, and Holmes' encouragement to go on and not be afraid.
"Millicent Donaldson, I hereby declare you…" the judge finally began, and the world vanished in those few moments.
xXxXxXx
"Guilty! Maid convicted of crime of passion! Sherlock Holmes once again brings down the scum of society's servants!" a newsboy called out on the corner beyond the glass of 221B later that evening. Holmes ground his teeth, irritated with the pronouncement.
"I have met far worse people…" he trailed off, turning away from the window and plunking down into his favorite chair. Watson was seated across from him, idly scratching between Gladstone's ears. Madeline was downstairs, chatting with Mary about the trial and exchanging stories of their own private adventures from when they were younger girls.
"Now, why so irate, Holmes?" John queried his friend, tilting his head to the right. "The case is solved, the guilty woman is locked away, and your client is safe. You couldn't possibly be bored already, correct?"
Sherlock muttered incoherently, all of it in a negative connotation.
"Then what? The city of London is safe for Mrs. Madeline St. James to wander around once again. Just like you wanted it to be."
The detective dark eyes flashed up momentarily. "Yes…but how can we be certain?"
The doctor shrugged. "It's impossible to be certain, but it seems a fair guess…"
"No, no," Holmes cut in, leaning forward in a conspiring manner. "I wouldn't guess that right now. She's still on the mend from her wounds, and could be prey to some misguided idiot. For all her twisted words, Donaldson may have swayed someone to her side."
"I was thinking that I would actually remove the plaster from her arm within two days," his companion said, nonchalantly straightening his jacket. "Maybe I'll even allow her to return home. The blood has settled successfully, and she can function properly."
"Still, with a plastered leg, I think it would be wiser that she remain here until the final cast comes off. She would be safer here, until the fervor around the case and trial cool down."
Smirking, Watson shook his head while at the same time agreeing to Sherlock's terms. He gave sound reasons, and John just didn't have it in him to object to his compatriot's ideas. Mumbling about taking Mary home for a spot of supper, he paused in the doorway and looked back at Holmes. The detective had risen again from his chair, and pawed through old newspapers hurriedly. To someone less familiar and less observant, it would seem that he was engaged in a mind-encompassing pursuit, but John knew better.
"You know, Holmes, it is possible to remain friends with someone after they've left your home. Just for your information," he said softly, causing Holmes' movements to stop abruptly. Sherlock looked over at his best friend, understanding that what was said went doubly for their situation. Things had been a tad strained ever since Watson's marriage and it was harder to remain in touch now that they were not dually paying the rent. But they both were trying…and that was what counted. Maybe he was tad anxious about losing another person he was connected to.
But that was why Holmes would just have to continue trying and pursuing another person. It would be a challenge, but he was never one to shy away from such a thing. Especially since Madeline was female; that alone was going to be a test, as he and women generally did not mix. Straightening his stance he met Watson's gaze confidently, accepting the metaphorically thrown gauntlet.
"Good night, Watson, call again soon," Holmes grunted, inclining his head politely.
"Don't be a stranger around Cavendish Place, Holmes," was John's humored retort before the doctor pivoted on his heel and marched down the stairs. Shortly thereafter, Holmes heard the muffled voices of the Watsons as they bid the housekeeper and the lady below farewell before opening and shutting the front door.
"Never will be, John," he said to himself, before trotting down the stairs and engaging in conversation with the leftover friend sitting in his parlor.
Author's note: Late again, I apologize…damn finals, they are the bane of my existence! I'll probably be late updating again next week, since I'm going away on a family vacation and moving back home as well, but I promise there will be an update soon. Thanks for reading, and I'm begging ya, please review (I am definitely not above begging)! Good night, and I'll see you guys soon!
PS: Sorry if this post is a little random at the end. I had no idea how to finish the chapter, so…there ya go. Oh well…