Sorry it's taken so long to get this up but i've been busy, making the most of my uni holidays and all that. This chapter is quite long though, so hopefully that makes up for the wait. I notice quite a few of you have put this story on alert or on your favourites though, which is lovely so thank you for that. Remember to review though, so I actually know what you think.
Once again, I own nothing apart from Johanna.
Enjoy!
The morning after Johanna's arrival, the house was awoken by a furious knock upon the front door. Naturally, I sprang out of bed, throwing on my coat and headed downstairs to find out the source of the noise myself, however, upon entering the hall, I could see that Holmes was already up and well ahead of me. Mrs. Hudson also bustled out of the kitchen moments later, headed towards the door also.
As I descended the top step as hastily as I could for so early in morning, Holmes pulled the door back to reveal Inspector Lestrade on our stoop.
"Lestrade, my good man," Holmes greeted him, stepping back and gesturing for the inspector to enter. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your company this morning?"
Now that Holmes had turned, I could see that the rims of his eyes were red; he had not slept, lost in his thoughts, no doubt. It was of no interest, however, to Mrs. Hudson, who-seeing the identity of our early caller- turned on her heel and left the room with a disapproving groan.
Lestrade twisted his cap in his hands, looking worried. "I am afraid it is not pleasant news as usual, Mr. Holmes. A woman contacted us in quite a tizzy first thing this morning- her husband has been murdered in the West Country."
"And you want my assistance, I assume?" Holmes asked.
Hearing the floorboards creak above me, I glanced up to see Johanna standing upon the landing. She was wrapped up in a dressing gown with her arms folded across her chest, pale with worry. It was only then that I realised that a police inspector bursting in announcing a murder was probably not the normal wake-up call for most people.
"Yes, Mr. Holmes," Lestrade said, clearly hoping this remark from my companion could be interpreted as an offer. "I'll admit, we're at quite a loose-end at the moment. He is a wealthy man, so obviously there are many-"he stopped dead, catching sight of Johanna on the landing.
"Oh, yes," Holmes exclaimed, as if he had been planning to introduce his daughter all along and had simply forgotten, "This is our friend Miss Johanna Barton of Bradbury. Johanna, this is Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard."
"Johanna Barton..." Lestrade repeated under his breath, as though trying to remember something before apparently deciding his was mistaken. "Pleased to me you, Miss."
"My pleasure," Johanna replied simply, but did not move from her position upon the landing.
"Can I meet you at the station before noon, then?" Lestrade turned back to Holmes.
"I will endeavour to be there," my friend promised. "You may fill me in on the details during our trip."
Lestrade was shown out and the awkwardness of the situation hit as all full in the face. I can't explain why Holmes thought it appropriate to leave so soon after Johanna had arrived, though it clearly embarrassed me far more than it did him.
"I am sorry for the disturbance, my dear," Holmes apologised, looking up at his daughter. "You may go back retreat back to your room, if you wish."
Johanna looked unimpressed. "I am fine, thank you." It did not take her long to air what we were all thinking. "Are you really going?"
I have to admit, I was also looking at him for an answer.
"I think I shall have to."
Johanna nodded but I could see she was unhappy about it; her eyebrows were pulled closer together in the beginning of a frown. She had every right to be angry, I feel. It must be terrible to come all this way and then have it seem as though your own father did not want your company, especially when he had initiated the idea in the first place. I hoped that, in time, she would eventually realise that a person like Holmes was out of his depth in a situation such as this.
"Since I'm awake, I suppose I will dress then," she announced, turning and retreating to Holmes' bedroom, which was hers for the duration. This obviously wasn't a problem for him, since his appearance signalled he would not be sleeping for that time anyhow.
"You can't seriously I being doing this?" I turned on him. Trust Holmes to have next to no regard for the girl's feelings.
"I see no reason why I would joke about it," he replied calmly. "It will be for two days at the most, we still have plenty of time before Miss Barton goes back to Bradbury."
"And who will look after her for these two days?" I asked, exasperated.
"I had hoped you would," Holmes said, honestly.
"Me?" I was shocked.
"Is there some reason I should not trust you with the young lady, Watson?" He raised an eyebrow as he asked this and I blushed with the very idea of what he was implying.
"Certainly not."
"Well, that's settled then," he responded decidedly. "As soon as Johanna is ready, we shall all have breakfast together; the sooner I get going, the sooner I will get back."
Johanna suggested we accompany Holmes to the train station and, much to my pleasure, he did not refuse her. Hopefully, he was actually feeling some of the guilt that he ought to be. The farewells on the platform were painfully awkward, as no one was really sure of the boundaries of their relationship.
It was strange not to be accompanying my friend on his journey, which made saying goodbye a challenge. A handshake seemed impersonal, considering our bond, so I placed a firm hand upon his shoulder as I wished him luck. Holmes seemed about to extend his hand for Joanna to shake, when she launched forward and held him in a tight embrace. Stunned, he remained motionless for a moment, before eventually raising his hands to pat her gingerly on the back. Not surprisingly, given his standoffish behaviour so far, he and Lestrade boarded almost immediately after.
Johanna did not say a word as we made our way back through the steamy station the main street, nor did she make conversation on the cab ride home. I could not say I blamed her, since she had been all but rejected by the father she had searched so long for (or, at least, that's how it must have seemed.) I got the feeling that even though she had sworn she still considered the Bartons her true parents, Johanna had expected Holmes to welcome her into his life with joyful tears and open arms.
She remained equally as silent for the rest of the day and to say it was unnerving was an understatement. I hadn't the slightest idea what to do with her; even though she seemed happy enough to be left to her own devices, I felt guilty. She ran herself a bath and remained in there for hours reading the morning papers. When she finally emerged-clothed, obviously,- she took to drinking cup after cup of strong, black coffee while she wandered throughout Holmes room, looking at all his possessions. I felt a bit odd, just sitting there, watching her, but she showed no sign of being uncomfortable with my presence. After a long deliberation, she actually picked up his violin a plucked out a tune with it.
Several times I caught myself wishing she would speak. Her voice was lovely- musical, but not in a sing-song way and on the deeper side, yet she did not sound masculine. Occasionally, our eyes would meet and it was as if I was seeing something for the first time, some grand revelation, but even then, she would just offer me a sweet smile and go back to her business. It was as if she longed to converse also, but hadn't the faintest idea of what to ask me. I would have been happy to recite my life story once more, if it had come to that.
As we settled down to eat dinner that night, the verbal drought was eventually broken, though not in the way I had hoped. I almost choked on my cream of mushroom soup when Johanna asked curiously, "Who is the woman in the photograph? The one on Mr. Holmes mantelpiece, I mean." Of course, I knew exactly what she meant.
"Err..." I coughed into my napkin, "Her name was Irene Adler." I quickly decided it was best not to lie to her, since Johanna had already shown she had the skills to find out the fact, should she suspect me of being less than truthful. "Holmes was very fond of her. She was it for him, she was the woman." I had never really understood it myself, but it really wasn't any of my business.
"Was meaning simply gone, or no longer alive?"
I was startled by her abruptness. Fleetingly, I thought "but she's pretty enough to get away with it" and had to stop myself. "No longer alive," I clarified, "She was killed."
"Oh," the lady responded sadly, "That's dreadful. No wonder he keeps a photograph up."
"Why the curiosity, if you don't mind me asking?" She had every right to be wondering about it, she was Holmes' family after all.
"I just wondered who she was. If she had such pride of place, I reasoned that she must have been important and I was right." She smiled but it seemed somewhat forced. I still don't know why but there are several theories that would explain it. It seems most likely that the poor thing had some romantic notion of my friend spending the last eighteen years wondering endlessly about her mother and nursing a broken heart, which was not the case.
I raised a hand to my mouth to stifle a yawn, despite the fact that it was still quite early. "Am I the only one exhausted after all the excitement this morning?" I asked her.
"No," she replied with that famous half-smile of hers, "I am too. I have the feeling my stay is going to be rather eventful." Johanna must have known something I didn't because excluding Lestrade's impromptu arrival this morning, our day shut-up in number 221B had seemed anything but eventful.
"I'm going to retire then," I decided, dropping my napkin onto the table and standing up. "Goodnight."
"An excellent plan," she agreed, standing up herself, "Sleep well, Doctor." She crossed the floor towards Holmes room, where she could now sleep without the guilt of throwing a man out of his own bed (regardless of whether he would have used it or not.)
"John," I told the back of her head, as I watched her walk away. Just as I was mentally kicking myself, she turned back around.
"What did you say?" she inquired, more out of confusion than not having heard.
"John," I repeated softly, "You may call me, John."
"Alright," she said, with a nod of the head, "Goodnight...John."
"And goodnight to you too, Miss Barton."
"Johanna," she responded, with that upturn of the mouth that I was growing so fond of, "Call me Johanna."
"Goodnight, Johanna."
The following morning, I had hardly taken two steps out of my own room when I was accosted by a fierce –looking Mrs. Hudson.
"Doctor, this can't go on any longer," she cried, with her hands planted firmly on her hips.
"What are you talking about?" I asked, utterly confused.
"That girl!" she replied furiously, as though it were obvious. "She's been shut up in this house ever since she arrived, Doctor. Imagine how irritating it must be for her!"
I felt like pointing out that Johanna had seemed perfectly content wandering around the house yesterday but I didn't fancy arguing with Mrs. Hudson, who could be truly scary when she felt the need to be. Although, I had to admit- getting out and about for a bit might be beneficial for her. We were expecting Holmes back tomorrow morning.
"Fine," I relented, waving her off, "I'll ask her, but it's up to her whether she accepts or not."
"Oh, I have a feeling she will," our landlady called over her shoulder as she walked away. Did all the women in this place know something I didn't?
There was really nothing left for me to do then, except go and call on Johanna. As I stood outside her door, or, technically, Holmes door, my heart was beating like mad but, in my expert opinion, it was nothing to be medically concerned about, which was even more worrying. I knocked and she immediately called back.
"Come in!"
I opened the door and there, she was sitting on the edge of the bed, brushing out her long, dark hair, which I had never seen out before. Needless to say, it was visually stunning.
"You like nice this morning," I complimented her.
She shook her head slightly. "I'm not even properly fit to be seen yet. Look at my hair!"
"It looks perfectly alright to me," I shrugged, letting a smile creep across my face.
"Did you have something of importance to say, John, or are you just here to tease me?" she asked, eyes narrowed in mock suspicion.
I hadn't meant to offend. "I was complimenting, not teasing, Johanna, and actually, I have something to ask you." She gave me a look that said, 'go on' and I continued. "Would you like to go out today? We could get a spot of breakfast at one of the bakeries down the street or a nice teahouse or something and then go to the park?" I offered, "What do you say?" If she replied in the negative, part of me would be crushed.
No pause for thought had ever seemed longer. "It sounds lovely," she said, much to my relief, "Just let me get this hair out of the way." She pulled it all back and tied a ribbon around where her ponytail left her head. "Alright then," she declared brightly, "Let's go."
Walking down the streets of London with someone as beautiful as Johanna Barton would be a dream for any man; her taking in of the city around her was wonderful to watch, as her eyes darted back and forth. If she could make a mental note everything she saw, I seemed it still wouldn't be enough. Where had I seen that before? The two of us drank tea made by a plump, middle-aged woman in a cake shop where we were the only customers. She pushed pastries on us for half an hour before we finally accepted and Johanna convinced her to wrap them in paper so we could have a picnic in the park. There was a bit of a quarrel about who would pay, with her insisting that she had money from her father to spend while she was away and me trying to act the gentleman. Eventually, she relented and allowed me to cover the charges but insisted she would buy me a present before she left and that we would all go out to dinner one evening when Holmes got back.
The park was still a little damp from the rain that had proclaimed Johanna's arrival the day before. It marred our chances of having a proper picnic, since we hadn't thought to bring a blanket, but a bench would do. A group of local children were playing a make-shift cricket game in front of us and we applauded any spectacular hits while we ate.
"I am glad you agreed to come today," I admitted to her between bites, "I would have felt positively wicked keeping you locked up in the house for another day."
She chuckled, looking at me as though I were being stupid. "Men have done worse things, believe me."
It was such an odd thing to say that I decided not to question it. However, there was one thing I could help myself from asking and that was to get her opinion on Holmes so far. Things had not been ideal, for sure, but it needed to be asked.
"I'm not sure what to think," she admitted, not meeting my eyes. "Have i done something wrong, Doctor?" Despite trying to hold herself together, I think she was getting quite distraught. "If I am, please tell me!"
I shook my head in dismay. "It is no fault of your own." I took her trembling hands in my own. "He is an odd man, by anyone's account and does not adapt to people well." I could not help but chuckle. '"He was exactly the same when I first met him."
Tears still masked her eyes but I saw them brighten, "Really?"
"Yes," I sighed. "You just have to understand that his work is important, it's what drives him." I raised her porcelain face with the backs of my fingers from my closed fist. "Honestly, this is the best I've seen him take to anyone in years. He had that whole conversation with you the other day for crying out loud! Just give it time," I said, "I promise."
"I think you're just trying to be kind to me," she accused, not breaking eye-contact.
"I'm really not," I defended myself, "But, then again, who wouldn't love you?" Had I really just said that? For what seemed the longest time, nobody said anything at all. The time seemed to have stopped passing around us.
"Oh look!" she cried, suddenly, pointing to the lake across the lawn, "Ducks." She hastily moved her face out of my reach, picked up the rest of her breakfast and made off towards the billed creatures. Obviously, I had scared her and I felt terrible, yet there was a part of me that did not regret it. For a while I just let her go, I felt I owed her that much. I watched her methodically pull her food into small pieces and throw them to the birds for as long as I could before the need to approach her overwhelmed me. I walked up and stood level with her, staring out over the water.
"You like ducks?"
"Love them. I have some at home."
I realised I had to apologise, even if I had meant every word. "I'm sorry if I scared you."
"It wasn't so much being scared as being surprised" she explained, still tearing off pieces and still not meeting my eyes. "You know what I am and you would still say something so nice."
"I don't know what you mean..." I admitted, puzzled. "What are you?"
"You know..."she said in a whisper, "A bastard."
She shut her eyes, as though in pain. "My whole life I've known I needed to get married, even if I've had no desire to until recently. The only other option would mean being out of a home once my father died and no one being able to take in and support my mother, should she outlive him. I am not ashamed about the truth of my origin because I love my sister and Mr. Holmes is so talented a man to be descended from but right away, I knew no one besides him, you and I could ever know; even the person I would eventually marry. If the truth got out, it would destroy my father, it would destroy everything." The ghost of a smile played upon her lips. "I thought any man who found out would run rather than risk his reputation."
I took her hand once more, in an act of comfort. "You're too beautiful for such a word," I said, honestly.
"There you go again," she jokingly chastised me, her half smile back; "I bet you are as nice as this to all the daughters of richer country doctors you meet."
"I'm not." Technically, this was true, since I had never spent so much time with another. "We should really be getting back; Mrs. Hudson is probably looking for us." Our hands were still fused together.
"You go," she said, relinquishing her grip. "I still need to buy you that present, if you recall?"
"I do," I said, "But will your father approve of you walking the streets by yourself?"
"My father will never know," she dismissed it. "Besides, I've had a fair bit of fighting practice in my time, should I be accosted."
"Fighting?" I repeated, flabbergasted, "Against who?"
"You will remember my uncle has all sons, no?" she asked. "He has seven of them and I had to spend three weeks every summer with them growing up."
"Is there anything else I should know about the mysterious Johanna Barton?" I questioned with mock suspicion.
"No," she shook her head decidedly, "Not right now, anyway."
I went home, as I had said I would. I had not been in for long though, when it began to rain. Johanna hadn't had an umbrella with her and I was anxious for her to get back, lest she should catch cold while I was supposed to be looking after her. When she eventually bustled back in, however, she was bone dry.
"How did you manage to avoid the rain?" I asked, stunned.
"Do you know," she began, placing her parcels down on the dining table and sounding equally as stunned, "It was the oddest thing! I met a gentleman in the shop I was in and he said he knew my mother."
"Your mother?" I repeated, confused, "As in, Mrs. Barton?"
I could see by the look on Johanna's face that she was equally as clueless. "I suppose that is what he must have meant," she said, getting quite animated now, "Because no one knows about Catherine and me."
"What did he say?" I asked, feeling I had a right to question it.
"Not much," she frowned, "If I explain it, it's going to ruin the surprise!" She stared at her parcels for a bit, before obviously deciding the story was more important. "I was buying coffee, because I felt bad for drinking so much while I've been here. "
I laughed and her eyes narrowed. "Sorry," I apologised hastily.
"Did you still want it, if it's so funny?" she asked incredulously.
"Of course," I backpedalled, "Of course."
She tossed me the package. "It's Indian, apparently. He saw me looking at it and recommended it to me. He asked my name, I introduced myself and that's when he claimed he knew my mother." She sighed, "I didn't question it at the time but perhaps I should have. I said I really should be getting back to my aunt's house where I was staying and he offered me a ride home. Of course, I refused because nobody can know my true lodgings but he insisted he buy me an umbrella."
At the end of her story, she shuddered. "What's the matter?" I reached out to her, concerned.
"Everything he said was so pleasant but there was something off about him. He scared me," she said seriously.
"It will be alright," I assured her, with an affectionate pat on the shoulder. In reality, I could not be so sure. Johanna had proved herself to be such a strong and level-headed young woman so far and the fact that she was so frightened by this individual was worrying. I did not think he would have followed her here but there was no way to be sure.
"But just to be safe," I suggested, "I can make you a makeshift bed in here this evening and, if you are comfortable with it, I can sit watch."
'"Is it really that serious?"
"Probably not," I admitted, "But I have learnt that people work in mysterious ways and I would feel as though I were letting Holmes down if I did not make this offer."
She nodded in acceptance, "Alright."
"Thank you for the coffee, by the way," I added, holding it up, "I'm sure we'll enjoy it."
"That's not your only present!" she laughed, "Here." She revealed a bottle of premium whiskey, which I reached out and took from her.
"How much did this cost?" I exclaimed, scanning the label.
"Oh, it was nothing," the lady assured me, "I still have enough to take the two of you somewhere in the next few days, so there's no harm done."
"I might just open this," I decided happily, walking to the cabinet in the corner to fetch myself a glass. "Do you drink?" I asked curiously, intending to get her a glass of her own.
"Very little," she said, "But I suppose I can join you." Her dress trailed across the floor as she came to sit in the armchair across from my own.
Returning, I handed her a glass and set the bottle down on the coffee table between us. "Should we raise a toast?"
"To what?" she asked, those eager eyes on hers back on me once more.
"To new friends," I suggested, raising my glass. She agreed, clinking her own against mine.
It soon became apparent that Johanna had either lied about being a serious drinker or had inherited Holmes' ability to remain immune to the stuff. It was probably quite irresponsible of me, given the circumstances of why we were sharing the room at all but there was, and still is, something about Johanna Barton that invites trouble. We had toasts to just about everything: her, me, Holmes, Mrs. Hudson, Gladstone, the ducks in the park, the tea lady, London, Bradbury, England and the Commonwealth, as well as Lord knows what else. I had trouble keeping up with her, that much was certain. We then tried to play poker but, I recall getting so excited about any good hands I received that I had to show Johanna immediately so she won each and every time.
Eventually, after arguing about who was too drunk and who needed to go to bed, we both decided to retire. Her- to the two armchair pushed together and me- to a pile of blankets on the floor, as per our earlier.
"Aren't you going to bid me goodnight?" she asked teasingly, leaning over the side of the chair.
I crawled across the space between us and looked up her, gaining a wild life from her. "Goodnight, Johanna." Our faces were only inches apart and my head was spinning. Out of nowhere, I fleetingly remembered something she had said in the park that morning. "Johanna," I asked, frowning, "what did you mean today when you said you had no desire to get married until recently?"
With that, she sunk back down into the refuge of her armchairs and I could no longer see her. "Goodnight, John," she said, dropping a hand over the arm rest to pat me on the head then falling silent.
A/N: Stuff just got real! What do you guys think of Johanna/Watson? Holmes will be back next chapter though, before anyone does anything they will *cough cough* regret. Also, do you think the murder Holmes is investigating is important? Who was the man in the shop? Let me know how you're interpreting it so far.
Thanks guys,
Taylor.