Caught up in Sherlock's dry and amusing observations of the other people in the park, I failed to pay attention to the path ahead, and nearly collided with another man. I stopped abruptly, face to face with my erstwhile friend Michael Stamford.
"Watson!" Stamford's startled gaze slid away awkwardly. "How are you?" he asked, not meeting my eyes.
"I am well, thank you," I replied politely. "And you?"
"I am well," he murmured, still not meeting my eyes. "Watson, I really don't know…" he began awkwardly, glancing up at me. His eyes widened when he saw Sherlock standing beside me, his eyebrows raised questioningly. Stamford stared at him, his face paling. "Watson, is this…"
"This is Sherlock," I said quietly. "Sherlock, this is Michael Stamford…a friend of mine," I introduced.
"I was not aware you had maintained friendships in London," Sherlock said coolly, giving Stamford a hard look.
Stamford's face slackened in shock at Sherlock's perfectly accented English.
"We had a bit of a falling out, I'm afraid," I muttered uncomfortably.
Sherlock studied him, then stiffened. "You were there."
"I was," Stamford said quietly. "I refused to participate in what they were doing, and when you did, John, I could hardly countenance it."
"Watson saved my life," Sherlock snapped.
"Why didn't you just speak to me, Michael? I would have told you my intention was to help him. Even if you thought me capable of such a thing—if you cared for me at all, you should have tried to stop me," I said, my hurt at his assumptions not so well buried as I had thought.
Stamford looked at me shamefacedly. "I—I didn't know what to think, or what to say. I sorely regret so misjudging you, Watson," he said quietly. "It has been much on my mind these past weeks, for I couldn't bring myself to believe you would treat a likely sentient being like a…" he trailed off, glancing at Sherlock. "I did hope your motives might have been better than they appeared, but I didn't know how to approach you after refusing to speak to you for so long. For what it's worth, I am very glad to know what you did, and not a word about Sherlock will come from me," he said.
Uncertain of how to respond, I said nothing for a moment.
Stamford nodded to both of us. "Watson. Sherlock," he said, and turned to walk away.
"Stamford," I called after him. "Perhaps—perhaps some time…"
He smiled. "Yes," he said, and with another nod he continued on his way.
Sherlock watched him go through narrowed eyes.
"He's a decent man," I said quietly, laying a hand on my friend's arm.
Sherlock snorted. "In my estimation, the only decent man among your colleagues was the one who did something." Taking my arm in a proprietary way, he started off again.
I smiled to myself, appreciating his words and relieved to have cleared the air with Stamford, if not entirely resumed our previous amiability.