Chapter 3: Mary's Story Becomes Interesting to Sherlock

"All right. Now we come to more current events. Five years ago, just after New Year's Day, I received a diamond." Sherlock, who had been lounging in his chair and staring at the ceiling, sat up and turned to look at Mary. Despite what he'd said to Mary earlier, all those personal details were a bit boring, but this was indeed very nearly interesting. "I've received one every year since then."

She dug through the purse until she came up with a small jewelry box, which she carefully handed up to Sherlock, who was standing by now, hand outstretched. John stood up beside him; Sherlock showed him the open box. John let out a low whistle. "Those are … pretty nice."

They were, and Sherlock could tell them how nice: "About two and a half carats apiece – this one is three ... point six – very clear, masterfully cut. You have interesting friends, Miss Morstan. How were they delivered?"

She was standing beside them now. "Mary, please. They were slid under my door at home. I have the envelopes. Then, last night I received this letter." She handed Sherlock the letter and its envelope, and several other envelopes, with little bits of tissue inside, each one in a plastic page protector.

"Oh, good, you kept the envelope. And the envelopes from the diamonds! You are an excellent archivist, Mary."

"Professional hazard," she said, smiling a little at John. Is this an inside joke? John wondered, returning her smile.

Mary turned back to Sherlock. "And now you see my situation. I can't help but think that I should accept this invitation, and I'm bold enough to hope that you might be interested enough to join me. My plus two, I suppose."

Sherlock read the note, flipping it back and forth. He then examined the envelope on all sides, finally peering inside it. "This was hand delivered to you? At your flat or at the library?"

"It was slid under my front door at home, same as the diamonds."

"Well, of course, we must all go. This seems to be … not boring. Possibly interesting. What do you say, John? A little rendezvous with treasure and destiny tomorrow evening?" Sherlock clapped his friend on the back and handed him the letter. John read:

Be at the third pillar from the left outside the Lyceum Theatre Friday night at nine o'clock. If you are distrustful, bring two friends. You are a wronged woman and shall have justice. Do not bring police. If you do, all will be in vain.

Your unknown friend.

John nodded. He was interested in the mystery, and interested in Mary, too. He handed the letter back to her, saying, "Tomorrow, then?"

"Tomorrow, then," Mary replied.

"Well, how about having dinner tonight? Angelo's is not too far." John offered. It was a gamble, but it seemed worth a try.

Mary smiled, while Sherlock stood behind her, glaring over her shoulder at John. "That's very kind, John, but I think I'll take a rain check." His blank face told her that her idiom was too American. "Not tonight, sorry. I'll take your number, and we can find another day, OK?"

After she packed her files and left, John turned a broad smile on Sherlock:

"Well, she certainly seems nice."

"Seems. One of the most pleasant women I've ever met poisoned a series of husbands. But she did it pleasantly."

"Mary is not a poisoner; you can see that."

"No, but she's hiding something from you. She laughed at your stories, even though they weren't funny. She turned down your dinner invitation. How much do you know about her, really know about her?"

"You just heard her life story. And that story is funny," John insisted.

"No, it isn't, and we didn't. We heard the case study. There's a lot in that file that you don't know, and that she didn't volunteer. When you were chatting and flirting, did she tell you any stories about herself?"

John thought for a moment, then sat down slowly.

"I should have seen it earlier. Damn. Text her."

"Text her what, Sherlock?"

"Ask her about the abuse."

"The what? How do you know that?"

"She laughs at your stories, even when they're not funny. She wants to appease men, yet she carries extra weight and wears her clothes loose, so as not to appear too attractive. She rejects your offer of a date. All those files, John. She was moved from home to home. Now, either she was an incorrigible psychopath in her infancy" – John shook his head, unwilling to believe this – "which we agree seems unlikely, or there were reasons to remove her, over and over again. I'll wager that she was removed from every one of those homes for cause. That's why she was happy in that miserable youth home, and that's why she was willing to walk away from her whole life in response to a letter from a stranger. Let's not even get started on her obvious trust issues. Text her!" Sherlock was satisfied with his analysis and wanted it confirmed.

"Sherlock, no. That's not… not good."

"No?"

"No. Really. No," John shook his head in wonder at his flatmate, the genius who couldn't understand why one simply doesn't text a woman he has just met to ask if she was abused as a child.