Chapter I: Domestic

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Taken from "The Abominable Bride" by Dr. John Watson. Edited by Mr. Ithel Williams. Published in 1894 by The Strand.

Over the many years it has been my privilege to record the exploits of my remarkable friend, Mr. Jareth King. It has sometimes been difficult to choose which of his many cases to set before my readers. Some are still too sensitive to recount whilst others are too recent in the minds of the public. But in all our many adventures together, no case pushed my friend to such mental and physical extremes as that of "The Abominable Bride".

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Mrs. Hudson opened the door to 221B just as the cab pulled up outside. Mr. Holmes, Mr. King, and Dr. Watson climbed out of the cab looking mildly pleased with themselves.

"Mr. King, I do wish you'd let me know when you're planning to come home," Mrs. Hudson said.

Billy, the houseboy, hurried out of 221B to unload the bags from the cab. Jareth paid the cabbie while answering Mrs. Hudson. "I hardly knew myself, Mrs. Hudson. That's the trouble with dismembered country squires – they're notoriously difficult to schedule."

Billy tried to grab the hat box from Dr. Watson, but the good doctor pulled it away. The boy asked, "What's in there?"

"Never mind," Dr. Watson said.

King ruffled Billy's hair. "Just go up and inform Mrs. King that we're back. That's a good lad."

"Did you catch a murderer?" Billy asked with glee.

"Caught the murderer; still looking for the legs. I think we will call it a draw," Jareth said.

"And I notice you've published another of your stories, Doctor Watson," Mrs. Hudson said.

"Yes. Did you enjoy it?" Watson asked.

A pause. "No."

The four went inside to escape the cold.

"Oh?" Watson said with displease.

"I never enjoy them. Not since Williams stopped writing them," Mrs. Hudson said.

"Why not?" Watson asked.

Holmes and King took off their coats and hats and hung them by the front door. King smoothed back his hair and adjusted his collar.

"Well, I never say anything, do I? According to you, I just show people up the stairs and serve you breakfast," Mrs. Hudson.

Dr. Watson said, "Well, within the narrative, that is – broadly speaking – your function.

"My what?" Mrs. Hudson gasped.

Homes leaned next to Mrs. Hudson and said, "Don't feel singled out, Mrs. Hudson. I'm hardly in the dog one."

Watson snapped, "'The dog one'?"

"I'm your landlady, not a plot device. Williams understood. I'm sure she understands my indignation over this," Mrs. Hudson said.

"Do you mean The Hound of the Baskervilles?" Watson asked.

Mrs. Hudson continued her list of complaints. "And you make the room so drab and dingy."

Jareth took the steps three at a time.

Watson and Holmes followed. The doctor said. "Oh, blame it on the illustrator. He's out of control. I've had to grow this mustache just so people will recognize me."

"Sarah, where have you run off to?" Jareth said as he opened up the curtains of the sitting room.

Light filled the den to reveal a figure dressed in black mourning clothes with a black veil over her face. She had clasped her hands in front of her waist in a mixture of patience and preparation for what was to come.

"Good Lord!" Watson said when he saw the figure.

"Watch your language, Dr. Watson. There are children present," Sarah said with mock primness. She pushed past Watson carrying Edmund in her arms. "Good morning, husband. How was your trip?"

"Passable," Jareth said. He kissed her cheek before greeting Edmund. "Hello, Ned. And how is my son today?"

"He missed his father singing him to sleep," Sarah said.

"Mrs. Hudson, there is a woman in the sitting room! Is it intentional?" Sherlock shouted down the stairs.

"She's a client! I said you were out; she insisted on waiting," Mrs. Hudson

"And what does that make me if I'm not a woman?" Sarah said pertly.

Sherlock blinked as if the answer was obvious. "You're Williams."

Watson offered a chair to the mystery woman, but she made no movement.

"Didn't you ask her what she wanted?" Sherlock said to Sarah.

"I merely deduced," Sarah said, "I did not lose all of my common sense when I married Mr. King."

"Good afternoon, I'm Mr. King. You have already met my wife. This is my partner, Mr. Holmes. This is our friend and colleague, Doctor Watson. You may speak freely in front of him, as he rarely understands a word."

"King," the doctor said.

Jareth kept his attention on the woman as he walked around her. "However, before you do, allow me to make some trifling observations. You have an impish sense of humor which currently you're deploying to ease a degree of personal anguish. You have recently married a man of a seemingly kindly disposition who has now abandoned you for unsavory companions of dubious morals. You have come to this agency as a last resort in the hope that reconciliation may still be possible."

"Good Lord, King!" Watson said.

Sherlock muttered from the corner as he got out his violin, "All of this is, of course, perfectly evident from her perfume.

"Her perfume?" Watson asked.

"Yes, her perfume, which brings insight to me and disaster to you," Jareth said.

"How so?"

"Because I recognized it and you did not," Jareth said as he removed the woman's black veil.

"Mary!"

"John," Mary said sweetly.

"Why, in God's name, are you pretending to be a client?" Watson demanded.

"Because I could think of no other way to see my husband, Husband."

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Sherlock played the wedding waltz he had composed for the Watsons' wedding. He stared out the window and tried to ignore the fight. Jareth sat on the couch with his son asleep on his chest and Sarah leaning against him. After listening to the Watsons go on for a while, Jareth raised his hand.

"Enough!" Jareth spoke softly. "The stage is set, and the curtain rises. We are ready to begin."

"Begin what?" Mary asked.

"Sometimes, to solve a case, one must first solve another," Jareth said.

"Oh, you have a case, then. A new one?" John asked.

Jareth pressed a kiss to the top of Sarah's head. "An old one. I shall have to go deep."

"Deep? Into what?" Sarah asked.

"Myself," Jareth whispered.

Holmes did not turn around from the window and said, "Lestrade! Do stop loitering by the door and come in."

Inspector Lestrade opened the door looking around warily. "How did you know it was me?"

Mr. Holmes put aside his violin before throwing himself into a chair. "The regulation tread is unmistakable; lighter than Jones, heavier than Gregson."

Lestrade could barely get his words out. "I… I uh… I just came up. Mrs. Hudson didn't seem to be talking.

Sherlock packed his pipe with tobacco from his Turkish slipper. "I fear she's branched into literary criticism by means of satire. It is a distressing trend in the modern landlady. What brings you here in your off-duty hours?"

"How'd you know I'm off-duty?" Lestrade asked.

Sarah gave Lestrade a glass of whiskey before sitting down next to Jareth. The inspector nodded. "Well, yes. Thank you, Mrs. King."

"Now, Inspector, what strange happening compels you to my door but embarrasses you to relate?" Jareth asked.

Lestrade took a long drink from his glass. "Who said anything happened?"

"You did, by every means short of actual speech," Sherlock said.

"You have misdiagnosed, gentlemen," Sarah said.

Jareth smirked. "Then correct me, Mrs. King."

"He didn't want a drink..." Sarah flipped the now empty class upside down, "…he needed one. He's not embarrassed; he's afraid."

Jareth smirked broaden and showed his sharp teeth. "My Boswell is learning. They do grow up so fast."

"Inspector, do sit down," Sherlock said.

As Lestrade took a dining chair, he said, "I'm not afraid, exactly."

"Fear is wisdom in the face of danger. It is nothing to be ashamed of," Sherlock said.

Dr. Watson poured the detective inspector another drink.

"Thank you."

"From the beginning, then," Jareth said.

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It was the tale of jilted wife who killed herself after making a ruckus. What was interesting was when she rose from the grave to shoot her husband. Emelia Ricoletti was more interesting than it would first appear.

"'Til death us do part. Twice, in this case," Sherlock snarked.

"Extraordinary," Dr. Watson exclaimed.

"Impossible!" Mrs. Watson said.

Jareth stood up. "Superb! Suicide as street theater; murder by corpse. Lestrade, you're spoiling us. Gentlemen, your hats and coats." Jareth kissed Sarah's cheek and Edmund's forehead. "Be a good little goblin for your Mum."

"Where are we going?" Watson asked.

Jareth grinned as he stood up. "To the morgue. There's not a moment to lose which one can so rarely say of a morgue."

"And am I just to sit here?" Mrs. Watson said, "No offense, Mrs. King."

"Some taken," Sarah said politely.

"Not at all, my dear," Dr. Watson said, "We'll be hungry later!" He said to Jareth, "King, just one thing? Tweeds, in a morgue?"

Jareth pouted as he looked at his own clothes. Sarah said cheerfully, "Needs must when the devil drives, Dr. Watson."

Mr. King gave a great sigh before running down the stairs to his next adventure.

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A/N: I have tried to not use as much from the episode when it doesn't deal with character development. Apologies to those who have not seen "The Abominable Bride".